Not all songs are about heroes
by AndShadowsWatchingOverMe
Summary: A young bard is searching for glory in the form of beautiful songs when he stumbles upon an old lady who owns a tavern in the Pale. Listening to her story might just teach him that not all songs are about heroes.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing related to the Elder Scrolls series, this is simply a way to express myself and I think it's pretty obvious that I get no money from doing this. All I'm doing is wasting my time doing something I like. I'm only going to put this here on the first chapter, but that doesn't mean anything will change in the chapters that follow. You know the drill. Bethesda is the one that owns Skyrim and that's how it should be. _

**Author's note:**

_ Okay, let's get started, shall we!_

_ An idea came to me the other day about an _Elder Scrolls: Skyrim_ fanfic and after a while I thought it would be better to just write it down so it would stop bugging me already! I haven't written any Skyrim fics before so this should be most interesting. At least I'm excited about this!_

_ Before I start pouring my heart out to all of you possible readers out there, let me start by saying this: English is not my native language, meaning this story will most likely be filled with spelling errors and sentences that simply sound stupid. I'm trying my best to correct my mistakes but there's only so much I can do, so my sincerest apologies. Pointing my mistakes will teach me (hopefully) to avoid them in the future, so don't be afraid to tell me where I've gone wrong if only you have time. I won't be offended. On the contrary! _

_ Now, about this story and how it is tied into the game verse. I made a few slight changes into the verse, nothing big or anything, but for example the female Dragonborn of the story has adopted quite a few more than two children. I'm hoping that all will be explained in the story and there won't be any trouble but since I'm not yet quite sure how this will work out, I'm just going to have to go with the flow of my mind. _

_ I have decided to challenge myself to write longer chapters than I usually do as a little test on how that will work. So far my chapters have all been less than two thousand words long so my goal shall be writing at least that long chappies. It shouldn't be that hard, right? _

_ As a short __**summary:**____this story will be about a young bard called Marcus who's looking to compose songs about heroes. He finds himself in a bar owned by one of the adopted daughters of the Dragonborn, named Helena, who starts telling her story to him. Helena, unlike her siblings was never a hero, a simple woman living in a world of warriors. I'm hoping to have some sort of a moral lesson on this one but I'm guessing I will simply forget about it as the story goes on._

_ One more thing to add. Since I've only played this game for a short amount of time, I fear I might be a bit confused with the lore. If any of the terms will be wrongly used, I'm sorry. Hopefully I'll learn along the way. And then there's Elder Scrolls Wikia to use, of course._

_ I think that's about it. Interesting to see what my messy head is going to make me write this time. _

_ Wish me luck!_

* * *

Out in the Pale wind was picking up. Winter had certainly come early this year and the cold snowstorm had appeared from out of nowhere. The travelers on the road from Whiterun to Winterhold were forced to find shelter when the gusts of wind became too powerful and some of them found their cover from the Dragon's Tooth inn.

Among the travelers was a young bard just graduated from the Bards' College in Solitude. He had been travelling by foot from Morthal to Windhelm, the city of the legendary Ulfric Stormcloack, when he had realized that in a few short hours he might have a blizzard on him. So the bard had started walking faster along the road in hopes of finding a place to stay, any kind of shelter would do.

He stumbled through the old wooden door in to the inn and was met with merry chatter of drunken people and the warm glow of the fireplace. He sighed in relief and let his shoulders sack. It felt good to be in someplace warm after the long trek through the frozen lands.

"Stop standing in the doorway, young man!" a woman dressed in simple clothes and a white apron said. "Go ahead and find a place to sit. There's plenty of room in here!"

"Um… Yes. Thank you, ma'am," he mumbled nervously. It had been quite some time he had spent a night at a tavern like this. Looking around he spotted a place to sit near the fireplace. The young bard sat down and removed his light deerskin tunic.

More travelers arrived and they were greeted by cheers from the other side of the tavern. The young bard paid no mind to them as he examined his tunic. It was way too light to wear out there in the cold. Most travelers and adventurers had clad themselves in thick furs and expensive oiled clothes that would keep them dry in any weather, but not this man. He had been sure he would make it to Windhelm before the weather got too rough on him but now he was cold, his tunic was drenched through and through and he didn't have enough gold to buy a new one. Great.

The bard started picking at small clumps of snow that had stuck on his beard and refused to melt even in the warm air of the inn. Customers were singing along the song about Ragnar the Red and for a while the man thought about joining in the fun. Deciding he wasn't drunk enough to perform without getting paid he tried to get the attention of the beautiful young maiden standing behind the counter.

"Barkeep, bring me your best mead," the bard shouted from across the room but the woman didn't hear him from all the noise and laughter. Someone had just risen to sing on top of a wobbly table, swinging his pint around and sprinkling its contents on other people. The bard sighed and slouched against his chair unwilling to leave. His spot was perfect, close enough to the fire and away from the door. Surely if he was to get up from his chair, someone lucky would take his seat and steal his place. So no, getting up was out of the question.

Oh, but he needed a drink.

The young man spread his tunic so it would dry faster in the heat of the hearth. His fingers that had gone numb out in the freezing roads of Pale were finally regaining their touch with prickling sensation. He stretched them out to test that everything was alright. He could not lose his fingers to frostbites. He needed them to play his lute. He started rubbing them against each other to spread the warmth.

"What is a bard from the College doing this far in the Pale?" asked a kind voice behind his back.

The bard turned around to face a graying old woman who was holding two pints of mead in her hands. It was the same woman that had called him in earlier, he recognized the dirty white apron and the wrinkled smile. She must be part of the staff, he realized. Of course.

"How did you know?" he asked curiously.

"I've seen my share of bards, I know when I see one. Here, have one on the house," she said offering the other mug to him.

"Thank you, milady."

The woman turned to poke the fire. It sizzled and she moved to throw a few logs into the hearth.

"You didn't answer my question," the woman said back turned to him.

"Ah. That I did not. My apologies, milady. I am but a travelling bard, just graduated from the College – "

"Oh, dear boy," the woman cut in, "there's no need to be that formal. It's not like you are talking to some pampered royalty."

The bard flushed in shame. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No need to apologize," the woman said turning around, facing him again. "I'm just not that used to be spoken to like a lady. But you were saying?"

"Ah, yes. I just graduated from the College and… well… I'm looking to find my start, actually."

"Ah!" the woman said sparkles in her eyes. "To be that young again! The world is waiting for you! It must be frightening!"

"Well… Yes, actually. I'm currently looking for a place work."

"Is that so?" the elderly woman asked sitting down next to him. "Then look no further! My name is Helena and this beautiful old joint is called Dragon's Tooth. Has been mine for over… hmh… over forty years. My, that makes me sound old, doesn't it? But that's the truth. We are looking to hire a bard to liven the place. Young people want to listen to some music while they're getting their head full of ale, if you know what I'm talking about."

"Oh no, no, no," the bard said quickly raising his hands. "I'm not looking for that kind of work. I am actually looking for ideas to compose my own music. Something new to the world."

The woman, Helena, seemed interested by this. The bard felt a smile tugging at his lips. Talking about his music made him happy, and finally there was someone who was ready to listen. For a moment he did not care that it was an old crinkled woman, anyone that was ready to listen was good enough company to him.

"I want to become the next big thing!" he told. "I am going to be famous, you just wait."

"Well then, let's hear what you have been working on," Helena said kindly. "I have heard my share of ballads and know what people want to listen to. Go ahead, I'll be your judge."

The man blushed again, averting his eyes.

"I haven't actually written anything yet. But… But I will! Just you wait! I'm travelling around trying to find inspiration, you know. I'm on my way to Windhelm right now! Or would be, if the storm hadn't surprised me on my way. But any way, I want to write about heroes! I will be singing ballads about brave warriors and ghastly draugr and… and… and dragons, of course!"

"Ah," the woman said with a softer tone. "Heroes. I see."

"Yes," he said excitedly. "I want to sing about heroes like the Dragonborn."

"Oh yes. Her victory over the World Eater is well known by all," Helena said warmly. She took a long sip from her pint of ale and sighed. "I grew up listening to those stories."

"Didn't we all."

The patrons of the inn started now to sing together some Stormcloak songs with loud voices. Mead was flowing and the night was filled to the brim with travelers from all around as well as from the areas near the tavern.

"My name is Marcus, by the way," the bard introduced himself. "At your service."

"Good to meet you, Marcus," Helena smiled. "You know, I had a brother just like you. A thin man who played lute and sang like an angel. Rest his soul."

"Was he a bard too?"

"Oh yes. And quite famous at that, I think. People from all around Skyrim came to listen to him sing when he visited me in here."

"Famous?" Marcus asked sounding doubtful. "Well, what's his name? Maybe I've heard of him."

The old woman smiled warmly looking at the dancing flames in the hearth. "Blaise. His name was Blaise. We were never told what his last name was and he never wanted to talk about his parents. They were part of the Legion, that much I knew, but all else was mystery."

"Blaise? You don't mean Blaise the Blessed, do you?"

"I think that was what they called him at some point, although he never liked the moniker. Said it was too flashy for him. That was the way he was. I always told him he was too modest, but he never listened."

"But… but… but he was one of the most famous bards ever attend the College!" he exclaimed standing up from his chair. "And he was the adopted son of the Dragonborn!"

"Yes. That he was. A sweet boy too. A sweet boy indeed. I always thought he would be the one to live longest from us but no, he caught the flu and never got better. Poor lad."

"Wait. You aren't saying you are one of the daughters of the Dragonborn?"

Helena just smiled and stood up. "I am one of the six children that were adopted, yes. Now sit back down, there's no need to make a fuss over it. Would you like to hear the whole story?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:**

_ A quick note here in hopes of making things clear, I have decided to write this fic so that every other chapter will be in a form of a story told by the other main character, Helena, and the rest of them will be about the day-to-day life of her tavern. So, as the first chapter was from the third point of view about Marcus arriving at the inn, this will be told as from Helena's POV. Hopefully it won't be too confusing, I'm trying something completely new for me. _

* * *

I was born to a poor family. I guess that's not much of a revelation since many orphaned kids come from un-wealthy families.

Things were already going downhill when I came to this world, my parents couldn't afford to feed a child let alone all three of us. And the beginning of my story was quite common at that time. Many of my future siblings would tell the same. Mead was cheap and there was easy access to it. And when times got rough it seemed to be easier to buy a drink than to use that gold to food. You know how it goes, my father was a violent drunk and mother was too afraid to do anything about it. A story of hundreds.

I guess my childhood could have been a lot worse than it was, to be honest. At the time I didn't feel that lucky, though. My father just happened to anger the wrong people on one drunken night. And those people burned down our entire house with both of my parents and siblings in it. I was damn lucky to get out of that inferno alive, but I sure didn't feel too happy. I pretty much thought I had been cursed by the Divines.

I'm not sure how exactly I survived those few months that I spent on the streets. I guess I just ran into people that were kindhearted enough to give money to a homeless little girls like I was. I remember sitting on the bridge to Windhelm begging for money and food from people passing me by. There was this other girl too, I wish I remembered her name. She sold mountain flowers to people in Windhelm. We spoke only a couple of times but chose to stay out of each other's ways. I was lucky enough to be found before the cold months of winter fell upon us but I never heard what happened to that other girl.

I had heard from the owner of the stables nearby that the Nord hero named Dragonborn had been spotted near the city and she was apparently heading towards Windhelm. People were whispering about her and I had of course heard my share of stories about the beautiful maiden working for the Companions who was destined to kill the World Eater himself. I was, like everyone else, excited to hear this. It wasn't everyday that you would get to meet a living legend. She was rumored to have the strength of five men. So I did like many others and climbed on the great wall to see her ride into the town.

Since none of us really knew how long it would take for this hero of Skyrim to arrive we all just sat there for hours waiting for her. All I can remember from that day now is how freezing the stone wall was. I could see the Argonians down by the docks from where I was sitting and they seemed to be just as excited as the rest of us.

The wait… I don't really know if it was worth it all just to see the hero of the Nords. I mean yes, I did see her, she was the biggest most muscular woman I had ever laid my eyes upon but I was so far away that all I really saw was a dot entering the city. People were cheering and acting like she was a Divine incarnate and all I saw was a dot.

The Dragonborn spent three days in Windhelm. During that time people got bored and pretty much let her be after the initial shine of their new pastime wore off. I kept following her though. I mean, she was a good role model for a young girl like me. She was independent, strong and knew how to take care of herself. She was not one of those girls who would just end up marrying some burly man and fend for the kids for the rest of her life, no. She was a _hero. _So I followed her around like a lost puppy.

During her time at the big city she visited Ulfric Stormcloack, helped the people of Windhelm and all thet heroic stuff. And at the end of her visit she finally noticed me.

I remember how I followed her to the Grey Quarters to see what she would do. It was rare to see a Nord who sided with the Stormcloacks to enter that part of the city. I guess I thought I was being really sneaky following her footprints but soon enough I was spotted.

"Why are you following me around, child?"

I remember stopping like I had been frozen over when I heard her voice. I swallowed aloud and started biting my lip when no good explanation came to mind.

"Well? Answer me, girl!" she said turning around. She was so big! I felt like she was a giant and I was a mere little rabbit before her.

"Um…" I said smartly. "I…"

"Aren't you dressed a bit lightly for this time of the year?"

"Uh…"

"Don't you know how to speak?"

"I know how to speak." After a while I remembered to add: "Ma'am."

With that I saw the serious look in her eyes melt away as the scary hero-lady started smiling. She kneeled before me, coming down to my eyelevel.

"Where are your parents, dear?" she asked with a surprisingly soft tone.

At the time I was so ashamed to start crying but I couldn't help it. After all, I was all alone in the world. My parents were gone and even though they had not been the best parents in Skyrim, they had been mine all the same. And both of my brothers were gone too. And there I was, bawling before the strongest and bravest woman alive! I was so embarrassed!

I admit it, I was sure she would get mad at me for crying. But it wasn't like that at all. She sat me down by a pile of bricks and asked me to tell what had happened. And I did. I told everything in one rushed story from a little child. And she listened. She was so kind. And after a while she asked me something I would have never in my wildest dreams had thought she would.

"How would you feel like moving in with me?"

I remember how excited I was. I was ecstatic! And there was no doubt in my mind when I said yes. Then she introduced herself as Fjola.

I guess it was on that moment when she said her name that I realized something, something that I hadn't even thought about before. She was a person too.

I know, I know. I sounds so weird now. But you know how it is when you are a child. You have your heroes, those invincible nobles that kill all the monsters and can never do anything wrong. To most it is their father who is the strongest man alive, or their mother who always knows best. To me it had been the Nord Hero of Skyrim, the Dragonborn. Invincible, unattainable and above anyone else. But at that moment I realized that she was a human being with real emotions and she was going to take care of me. It was no rude awakening, oh no. On the contrary! I was very happy about that revelation.

She brought me with her to her beautiful house near the lake Ilinalta. We rode the whole way from Windlem to Lakeview Manor in only a few days. And beautiful the place was indeed. Back when I was brought there the house was still unfinished, the kitchen area had no roof and I don't think Fjola had even thought about building an alchemy laboratory wing at the time.

It turned out I was the fourth child to move in to the manor with Fjola. Before me there were Lucia, Kalt and Hroar. And then there was of course Rayya, Fjola's housecarl and steward. She was basically the one that looked after us and the house when our adoptive mother was out doing whatever it was that heroes did for living. Later on the four of us had two more siblings to join us at Lakeview Manor, Iona and finally there was Blaise.

Out of all the children Blaise was the one I really got along with. He was a silent child when he first arrived, spoke only when was spoken to but when he did, he chose the wisest of words. I got him to open up a bit once we started spending time together, but he never did like to talk about himself. And I liked him just the way he was. We were both a bit… different from our other siblings.

Now do not get me wrong, I loved each and every one of my brothers and sisters. We all got along just fine most of the time. Sure, there were brawls and fights, but which family doesn't have those from time to time? But the thing was that over time I realized I did not want to be a hero, unlike most of the others. I did not want to grow up and to become someone like Fjola. To be frank, I just didn't like violence. And that was something that set me out from the others. That, and everybody else seemed to have some sort of special talents.

Let's see now, I'm sure I still remember them. I think Horar was the first one to get adopted. Yes, that's right, he was brought from the Honorhall Orphanage after the owner of the place was mysteriously murdered. He was a silent child as well, but deadly gifted with the bow. When he was nine, our mother brought over a friend from the Companions to meet us all. Aela the Huntress was one of the fiercest archers in the Whiterun Hold, or so we were told. Hroar had immediately fallen head over heels for her like only a nine-year-old can. And I don't really wonder why. That curvy shield maiden made bigger boys quake in fear and lust when she walked by. Fjola saw him acting all weird around her friend and misinterpreted his actions as hopes of getting archery lessons – or that was what she told us anyway. I had my doubts though, she had this funny mischievous smirk on her face when she set the lessons up. But that had been it for my brother. He had started practicing with Aela and then there had been no return.

Iona had been the oldest of us to get adopted at the age of fifteen. When our mother found her she had been fighting wolves near Lake Ilinalta. All the young girl had had with her was a stick ripped off of a tree that she had used to beat the beasts off of her hide. She would probably have killed them all by herself too, but Fjola had decided to aid her all the same. Mother used to say that she was a natural born swordswoman. And when mother had started teaching her to use two-handed weapons, Iona had found her calling. She had started to build strength to her body and became quite a sight. Even some of the guards in Falkreath were afraid of her when we went to buy supplies from time to time.

Lucia, Kalt, Blaise and I had been a bit of an enigma to Fjola. She was not used to children that didn't know how to use a blade. She tried to get us into the fine art of battling by bringing us wooden swords and beautiful knives to practice with whenever she came home from long trips. She never asked what we really wanted, just brought more and more weapons for us to try. And to think that all I wanted was a dolly. When I nearly cut my own thumb off with a glass knife mother finally gave up. For a while I was relieved, I thought that would be the end of it, but no. I was wrong.

One day a travelling mage came knocking on our door. It wasn't that uncommon, salesmen and women came by every now and then, including the Khajit merchants that had established quite good relations with Fjola. The mage asked if we wanted to buy anything and at first Rayya was about the send the man off. But then Fjola stepped in. She bought a pile of overprized spell tomes for us to look at.

That was when Lucia and Kalt found their calling. Both of them got into destruction magic. Lucia started to practice flame spells when Kalt went for ice. Neither of them were natural born mages, I can tell you that much, but what they lacked in talent they compensated with hard work. And mother was encouraging them all the way through. The two of them started to fight each other, seeing how far they could take their gifts.

For me it was horrifying. Let me tell you a secret. I have always been afraid of magic. It's stupid, I know. I mean, look around you. I can bet this tavern has a handful of mages in here right as we speak. I'm not that scared anymore, thank the Divines, but back then I damn near pissed myself when fire and ice started flying around the main hall.

But as the two of them were hitting it off with magic, Blaise and I were struggling with our tomes. Blaise managed o learn a simple healing spell but after casting it to his pet fox he lost his consciousness and was bedridden for days. That didn't exactly encourage me to pay attention to my own reading. I mean, I didn't even understand what the tomes were about. I read them again and again and tried to memorize them to cast simple spells. Nothing. I just wasn't gifted with magic, thank the Divines. The worst part was that we both knew how disappointed Fjola was when neither of us showed any signs of magical talent. She never said anything, but the look in her eyes was enough.

For years Blaise and I were certain that we would never find our talents. We spent long nights talking about our future. Skyrim is a cruel place for those who don't know how to fend for their selves. And we were afraid. You see, Fjola had a policy. She had told it to us all when we had agreed to move to live with her. We were free to live in her house until we reached our twenty first summer. Then we would be cast out into the wide world with some gold and for a year we would have to take care of ourselves. Only after that year would we be permitted to return home if we so chose. She seemed to be certain that none of us would return but Blaise and I were absolutely terrified. The world out there was huge and at the time there had been dragons flying around, burning villages as they went, for Talos' sake. I was certain that I would be killed the moment I stepped out of the front door.

But as it turned out, Blaise had no reason to be afraid for his future. One year mother decided to take us all to see the Burning of King Olaf in Solitude. That was when we found out about Blaise's amazing singing talent. A local bard from the College promised that if Blaise still as a grown man would want to come and try his luck at the College, he would have a place preserved just for him.

As happy as I was for him, I did feel a bit bitter. You understand, don't you? As long as there had been two of us without a purpose, the fear of the unknown had been bearable. Now that I was alone, the horror of it all almost got the better of me. And I was not that understanding back then. I started avoiding Blaise as if I thought my situation was somehow his fault. You know how young people are.

I was so afraid. I felt like I was all alone. All of the others had found something they wanted to do. Something that drove them forward. I felt the pressure grow in me as the years went by. I wasn't a hopeless case though, I never said that. I knew how to take care of the house since I was the one that had to clean up after my messy siblings. I also helped Rayya to take care of the animals and the garden while others were practicing with mother and her friends. But I was no natural born hero. At my lowest points all I could think about how I was a disgrace to my mother. No daughter of the Dragonborn should be a wimp like me. So I tried to work my hardest with the chores to show Fjola that I wasn't a waste of time. I wanted to make her feel like adopting me wasn't the biggest mistake of her life. I know that at times she was ashamed of me, but she loved me all the same. And nowadays I know that it was stupid of me to fear that she wouldn't love me if I didn't find my calling, but that I did.

Time went by fast. The first one of us to leave was actually Iona. I remember the day she left like it was yesterday. She was the only one of us to leave before she turned twenty one, she left at the age of nineteen actually. She said that she was ready and staying for longer would only make her feel like a prisoner.

"My destiny is out there, not here," I recall her saying. And Fjola had never looked prouder.

Before Iona could leave, though, mother took out and object wrapped in a deerskin and gave it to her.

"I knew this day would come, so I made you this. To keep you safe out in the plains of Skyrim."

As Iona opened the deerskin she found a beautifully carved daedric warhammer. We had all seen mother forging it for a full year now and were amazed to see such a work of art being given to Iona. She thanked mother, took her knapsack and left. We were told later that she had become a highly appreciated sellsword.

Hroar left two years later. As Iona, he was also given a parting gift. He got a bow forged from a dragon's bone. He thanked and left to take his place as a Companion. We heard later that he didn't quite make it to the inner circle thanks to some drunken brawls in the Bannered Mare. We were proud of him all the same.

The rest of us reached our twenty first summer at the same year. We all left on the same day, Lucia and Kalt taking their horses to travel to the College of Winterhold to learn more about magic. They were given identical mage's robes that Fjola had enchanted herself. Whenever the robes were worn Kalt and Lucia got in touch with nearly unlimited amount of magicka. That should help them during the studies to come. Then it was our turn.

"To you," I remember Fjola saying to Blaise, "I give this. Unlike the other gifts, this I didn't craft myself. I didn't trust my talents enough to do so, so instead I bought it. It will help you to play the most beautiful ballads. Use it well."

Blaise was given a lute and I must admit it was the most beautiful instrument I had ever set my eyes on. It was nothing compared to the worn old thing that my brother used to play on his spare time. When he gave the new lute a try, it let out such a beautiful sound that the birds in the trees surrounding the manor went silent for a while. Later on he would make people fall on their knees with his music. I could see tears of gratefulness in his eyes.

"And to you, my dearest Helena, I give this. Crafted from a little finger of a dragon and as its heart a flawless ruby from the deeps of Blackreach. It will serve you well if you so choose."

I was given a ring. A beautiful and most certainly expensive one, but it was ring all the same. I knew immediately what it meant and remember how I felt bitter tears forming in my eyes. In my mother's eyes the only way for me to serve Skyrim was to become a wife to some Nord somewhere out there. I didn't get a weapon, I didn't get enchanted clothes, no. I got a ring.

"Now, my children. I send you out. I wish you all good luck, may you find your own destinies out there. And when you do, be not afraid to chase them," we were told. But all I could think about was the ring on my hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:**_ Thanks to __Higekimaru__ for pointing out that my paragraph shifts (or whatever it is called in English) had gone awry. I don't know what happened, it looked all right when I was writing it, but after I uploaded the chapter, things had gone… I don't know… Wrong. I probably wouldn't even have noticed. So thank you! Hopefully this time things won't go wrong._

* * *

"And then what happened?" Marcus asked, not even realizing how he was leaning in closer to catch every word that came out of the old woman's mouth. "What did you do after that? Did you get married? How did you ended up owning a tavern? Did you sell the ring to get the gold for a tavern?"

Helena laughed lightheartedly at the young bard's excitement. "Oh no, dear boy. No, no. It would take me quite some time to get this little slice of heaven. I would get lost on my way and wander for years before I would find my calling, actually. That is how stories usually go, don't they? The hero must face problems and what not. You should know, you are the one who writes stories about heroes, aren't you?"

"Well… In time, I hope," the bard mumbled playing with his tankard.

"Oh dear," Helena said stretching her back. "All this talking has tired me. I am going to need another drink and fast!"

"What? Wait! You can't just leave me here, the story is unfinished!" Marcus said hurriedly as the woman stood up.

"Oh, my back isn't what it used to be," the old lady mumbled.

"Are you listening to me?"

The barkeep walked to the counter where a young woman was starting to look quite worn out from the long night. Helena said something to the woman behind the counter, who nodded and left the tavern.

"Closing time, friends!" Helena announced. "Drink what's left of your mead and go home, you drunks."

"But it's still snowing out there…" someone whined.

"It's _always _snowing out there," said some other guy.

Marcus picked up his tunic that hadn't quite had the time to dry. At least it was warmer than before he got in. He walked tiredly to the counter, where Helena was cleaning up the empty mugs.

"Young man, you look absolutely drained! You should go to bed already. Do you need a room?"

"Well as the matter of the fact… yes. Do you have any?"

"We sure do," the woman said with a smile. "Usually I would rent a room for ten Septims a night but since you're from the College… Five Septims."

"Thank you," he said handing the coins. "So… You really aren't going to tell the rest of the story?"

The woman smirked mischievously. "How else am I going to make you stay for longer? After all you do bring money to the inn, don't you?"

Marcus looked at her horrified. The barkeep just laughed.

"I'm just pulling your leg, boy. I just think it would be for the best if we continued the story on some other time. You looked like you were about to fall asleep on me."

"Just give me something!" he said tiredly. "I'm dying to know! Where did you go after you were sent away from Lakeview Manor? Did you ever go back? And did Blaise get to the College?"

"Go to bed, boy. I will tell you once you have slept those bags away from under your eyes. Go. Go! Up the stairs and the fourth door to your left."

"Just tell me – "

"Now!"

Muttering to himself Marcus climbed the stairs to fall down on the rented bed. The sheets were not as clean as he had hoped for, but that did not stop him from falling asleep in fifteen minutes.

o-o-o-o-o

Marcus woke up in the morning to the biggest crash just outside his door. He jumped up from the rented bed in fright only to realize how much his head hurt from last night.

"Ow, ow, ow," he muttered holding his head. Never had he been one to hold his drinks, he had been the laughing stock milk-drinker of the College and those handful of drinks he had drank during the story from the night before had gotten the best of him. He fell back to sit down on the bed.

Outside his door he heard someone curse under his breath.

"_What happened up there?_" Helena's voice rang muffled from downstairs.

"_I dropped the plates, ma'am. I'm so sorry._"

The bard listened to the barkeep scolding someone and groaned aloud. These walls were thin as paper. Great.

Well, he could not just spend all day in his room. It was not like someone was about to come and check if he was still alive or not but he was getting hungry. Rubbing his temples he got up and pulled out some more or less clean clothes from his backpack. After dressing up he sulked downstairs.

The Dragon's Tooth inn was already open even though there weren't that many customers in at that early. A boy was cleaning the mess from night before and Marcus guessed it had been him who had 'dropped the plates' waking him up. There was also a young woman behind the counter as the bard sat down by the polished bar. The woman was not the same as the one from the night before, he noticed as he ordered breakfast and something for the nasty headache.

"Ah. Our young bard has woken up!" he heard a cheerful shout from behind him that made him flinch. His ears were ringing as the owner of the tavern arrived smiling like it was the best day of her life.

"Good morning, lady Helena," he grumbled with foul mood as the older woman floated by with a carefree look on her face. He felt even worse seeing the woman all chipper like that.

"You know, young men like you should not drink too much," she said smiling while she took the maidens place behind the counter sending the girl to wipe clean the tables with the boy. She dug out a bottle of hang-over remedy to give to him. "Although I can't say I saw you consume all that many pints."

The bard sighed and hoped his breakfast would arrive soon. His day was not starting well at all.

There were only a handful of customers at the inn. Most of them were having something to eat, only one man was downing his drinks like the day was going to be his last. Marcus tried to sit comfortably on his small stool as Helena started humming some vaguely familiar song under her breath.

The bard heard the front door open behind him and felt the cold gust of a wind try to sneak under his clothing. Shivering slightly he wrapped his arms around himself.

At first he didn't think twice about the door. But then he happened to lift his eyes from the counter to the barkeep. The jovial look on Helena's face had disappeared and she was looking rather solemn. The look did not suite the good-hearted lady at all. Marcus turned uncomfortably around to see what she was looking at.

Two men and a woman had stepped in to the tavern and they were shaking off the fresh snow from their nearly identical cloaks. Marcus had heard of these people, it wasn't really that hard to recognize them thanks to their light green robes. These people travelled around Skyrim to hunt daedra in the name of Stendarr. What was it that they called themselves? Vigilantes of Stendarr? Something like that. But what were they doing at the inn? They did not look like they were there to simply have a drink.

The three of them looked around and one of the men was sneering.

"It _reeks_ in here," he said silently.

"He has not been here recently, but I can still _smell _him," the woman said. "This place needs to be purged."

"Can I help you?" Helena said with a voice that spoke of forced calmness. "Something to eat? Drink? Please do tell me."

The Vigilantes were shooting glares at the barkeep. After a short whispered debate one of them stepped forward, the other two following closely behind.

"Helena of Dragon's Tooth inn, in the name of Stendarr – " the man started.

"Not this again," Marcus could hear her mutter.

" – we have arrived to purge this place from the monster that dwells here."

Helena sighed tiredly, the good mood from only a few minutes ago completely gone. "I know why you are here," she said silently. "And you are not the first ones to come. The ones that came before you told me the same tale and I will say as I said to them: you are wasting your time. Get out of here, I will not serve people like you."

The one that had spoken looked angered and Marcus could only wonder if he was going to attack the defenseless old woman.

"This monster needs to be banished from – "

"He is not here," Helena cut in sternly. "And you should be thankful for that. You know what he did to those who came before you, don't you?"

The bard followed with interest as the leader paled.

"Well… Well, you can always summon him, right? Give him to us and we shall show mercy to your tavern."

"Mercy?" the woman asked coldly. "Mercy? Stendarr _is_ about mercy. I think you should listen to your Divines if you wish to do as they bid you to. And no, I will not summon him here. He scares away the customers."

The Vigilantes looked around at the few customers that were following this conversation with interest. There weren't really any customers to scare off, Marcus thought. And he doubted anything could scare off that man in the corner who was downing a third bottle of cheap ale.

"In that case," the man that had taken the role of his little flock's spokesman said fisting his hands, "we are forced to take away the – "

"Is there a problem in here?"

Marcus and the three Vigilants turned around surprised to hear a deep voice from behind them. None of them had heard the door open, but now there was a burly man dressed in Companions' armor staring down at them.

"Ah. Hugo. It has been too long," Helena said with sparkles returning to her eyes. "And no, there is no problem. These people were just about to leave."

The leader of the small group grumbled loudly as he turned back to face the old woman.

"This is not over. No. I will be back and then we will either take him down or burn this place to the ground."

Helena sighed aloud as the Vigilants marched out whining like little girls, all of them.

"Damn those idiots," she mumbled. "This is the third time this month. I'm getting tired of this."

"You know, if I hadn't been here today, they might have done something to harm you," the man who had been called Hugo said.

"Yes, I know that. But what can I do? I'm not hiring one of those thugs, you know. He doesn't like them."

"Now who is this 'he' you keep talking about?" Marcus asked curiously, feeling the medicine starting to numb his pain slowly. "And what in the name of Talos were those Vigilants doing in here?"

The man named Hugo gave him a vary glance. "And who might you be?"

"Oh, that's just Marcus, a bard from the college. He came here yesterday," Helena answered for him. "Marcus, this is Hugo. He is my nephew, son of my brother, Hroar. I told you about my brother, didn't I? A Companion archer?"

"Yes, I remember now," he said. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Hrmh," the burly man just said and turned back to talk to the barkeep. "I know how you feel, but if _he_ is not going to be here most of the time, then – "

"Let me stop you right there," Helena said sternly, holding out her hand. "This isn't the first time I've dealt with people with _opinions_ and it definitely won't be the last. And I am not spending my gold on a thug that would sooner sell me to the highest bidder rather than stand up for me. And calling _him _back here is even worse idea. Imagine how my customers would react to him, now would you? This isn't exactly Whiterun I'm living in. I need to hold on to my regulars and having him hang around here every day would not be good for business. I need to look after my staff, for Talos' sake."

Marcus felt confused but thought it would be better to leave the conversation for the two of them.

"Hiring a thug or keeping him here _would_ be taking care of your staff. You don't want them getting killed by bandits, now do you?"

The old woman scoffed. "Bandits? These parts haven't had bandits since Fjola – "

"You can't always rely on that!"

"Oh, dear Hugo. This is ridiculous. You know him. You have _seen_ him! So I'm not calling him in unless I really have to."

"Fine!" Hugo all but shouted. "But the least you can do is keep a dagger near or something! I swear to you, if something happens to you, my ancestors will return from the death to avenge you and kick my behind!"

Helena laughed light-heartedly all anger forgotten and started wiping the counter clean. "That they would. I can already see mother returning from Sovngard to tell you off. But please. Let me offer you something to eat, dear boy. It is so rare to see any of you kids these days."

With a grunt Hugo sat down next to Marcus, not even noting the young man next to him. The bard gave a scrutinizing look to the hardened warrior next to him. Under the detailed armor he was quite young. Wielding the one-handed sword he carried with him had made his arms strong, or so I would seem. Noticing the bard's keen eyes on him, Hugo growled a warning, frightening Marcus to avert his eyes.

Helena, who had left to retrieve food to both of the men by the counter, returned with heavy breakfasts on two plates.

"Here you go, boys," she said handing the warm plates. "Wait. Hugo, is that fur… coming out of your ears?"

The muscular man flinched almost unnoticeably.

"When did they take you into the inner circle?" she asked sternly.

"About two months ago," he muttered.

"Good for you," Helena said silently. "I am proud of you, my boy, and I'm sure that so would be your father. But please, _please_ be careful while your… roaming out there. Fjola always told us that the instincts can take over if you are not careful so… Be on your guard."

"Yes. Of course."

They started to eat in silence as the older woman went to talk with the young maiden and the boy. They were both having fried eggs with the side of potatoes from last harvest. Marcus was feeling rather nervous around the big Companion. Silence had never been his forte.

"So… one of the Companions, I see," he said nervously. "That is… honorable. I bet you could tell all sorts of heroic tales from your battles. I'm a travelling bard, you see, and I'm looking for inspiration to my songs. Would you kindly – "

Hugo stopped his babbling by turning to face him with an angry look on his worn face.

"I," he said slowly, "am not one of those fools who find bloodletting honorable. Out there it is life or death. When you are faced with a bandit that has murdered innocent to his personal gain, you aren't feeling that heroic. There is nothing great about killing, so if you are looking to write that sort of songs, find someone else to bother!"

Marcus whimpered slumping down. After a while he gathered his plate and tankard and shamefully slinked to another table a bit further away from the counter.

"Aww, don't take that boy too seriously," Helena said sitting down with the bard. "He isn't too kind to strangers but once you get through that thick skull of his, you'll find a sweet and caring person."

"I guess…" Marcus said slowly. "But if you don't mind, I would rather eat alone now, milady."

"Why do you keep calling me a lady, young man? That makes me feel so old," Helena said lifting an eyebrow. Then she laughed lightly. "But I guess you bards are raised like that. Blaise was always so kind and careful with his words that it was hard to tell if it was the College in him or something else."

Marcus sighed and was about to ask the woman to leave him be. But then he noted a slim ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a curious ring, he had never seen anything quite like it. The material was pale, almost bonelike and there was a blood red gem on it.

"Is that…" he asked slowly, "_the_ ring?"

"Oh this old thing?" Helena asked lifting her hand. "Yes, this is the ring I got from my mother. Quite beautiful, is it not?"

"I didn't see you wear it last night," he remarked.

"You are right. I put it on after the Vigilantes came in. Just in case."

The young man tilted his head burning with interest.

"So… what does it do, exactly?" he asked.

"Oh! This ring has done quite much for me during the years. I doubt I would be here today if it wasn't for this beauty," she told. "But I can't just go telling you what it does just yet. As I recall, the story was left unfinished last night. Would you like me to continue?"

"Eh… Yeah. Why not," Marcus said resting his elbows against the table. "I have nothing better to do at the moment. So… What happened after you were sent away from Lakeview Manor?"

"Hmm… Let me think," Helena said taking a more relaxed stance on her chair. "After we were forced to leave…"


	4. Chapter 4

So, where was I again? Oh yes, now I remember. We had just been sent away from home with our gifts. As I told you, Kalt and Lucia took their horses and were riding towards Winterhold while Blaise had decided to chase his dream and to travel to Solitude. He had been talking about the Bards' College nonstop for the last couple of months we spent home. As my siblings were all but ready to chase their destinies or glorified goals I was desperately trying to come up with any sort of an idea. But it was of no use, I had spent weeks, months, years trying to come up with a plausible idea, I was not going to have a sudden enlightenment on the last minute.

We had all been given a small amount of gold that would barely get us started out in the big world. I was sure that I would end up wandering in the woods after I would run out of Septims. I would have probably ended up getting lost if Blaise hadn't been such a sweetheart.

You see, even though I had acted like he had never existed after we found out about his musical gifts, he still wanted to help me. That man was too nice to everybody.

"Why don't you travel with me to Solitude?" he asked when we parted from Lucia and Kalt. "I'm sure finding employment from a big city is much easier than aimlessly wandering from one village to another."

"What do you suggest?" I remember asking.

"Come with me to Falkreath, we'll pay for a wagon that will take us to Solitude and then we can go our separate ways."

I liked the idea. It was far better than trekking alone on some lonely road. And sharing a wagon would be cheaper for the both of us.

So that was how we ended up walking by foot to Falkreath. It wasn't that long of a walk but you can never be too vigilant while travelling. Our mother, Fjola, had done excellent job purging the Falkreath hold from bandits but for some reason they seemed to spawn out of nowhere every now and then. Lucky for us the road was empty and our walk was safe. I do recall that it was a beautiful day, sun was shining like all the Divines were wishing us luck.

But I couldn't help but feel bitter. I had pocketed the ring that had been given to me and refused to wear it. I didn't even want to touch the thing. My mind was filled with mixed emotions, anger for being branded as a lost cause in mother's eyes, sad for feeling like I had failed Fjola and confused with what I should do next to mention a few. It was not a good day for me. In my mind I had already decided to sell the damn thing to the next merchant that we would meet.

Blaise, the sweet thing, was of course trying to make me feel better. He saw my brooding, it was no secret, and knowing me so well he already knew what the problem was.

"Surely mother wouldn't give you a gift that had no use. Look at the things she gave to the rest of us. All of these are amazing. Yours must have a special feature as well."

Nowadays I know he meant well, but at the time his words sounded like nothing but boasting. I was envious over his lute even though I didn't play myself. I felt like mother had chosen to give me a useless ring on purpose and it hurt. As I told you before, I thought she had meant it to be given to a husband for sure.

You see, I had always admired those rare few independent women of Skyrim. You know, women like Fjola or maybe Maven Black-Briar. Well, maybe Black-Briar isn't that good of an example. But what I meant was women that could take care of themselves and that needed no husbands to make their dreams come true. And even though I had never been hero-material, I wanted to be independent too. And having a would-be wedding ring as a parting gift from my mother felt like the worst kind of insult.

I sulked all the way to Falkreath and half of the ride to Solitude. You should have seen me! It was like I had black clouds hanging over my head! And I know that I really scared Blaise too. He never liked to see me mad, it wasn't exactly something I did on daily basis.

Our wagon had the nicest driver. I wish I could remember his name now. Hmm… Oh well, it doesn't really matter. It's been so long! He was this elderly gentleman, told us he had been driving people around Skyrim for decades! That must be an interesting occupation, don't you think? He knew all sorts of stories about the College, had probably met his share of bards during his career. On our way he asked Blaise to play his lute. I can still remember from word to word what my brother responded.

"Give me ten years and then ask me again."

Solitude was everything I had dreamed about. Spending the years at a lakeside manor far from civilization had almost made me forget what life was like in big cities like that. And how much Solitude differed from Windhelm! Red flags and Imperials guarding the city instead of Stormcloaks, no divide between other races, it was impressive in my eyes. And there were people everywhere. I must have looked so goofy standing there with my eyes pretty near bulging out of their sockets.

When we arrived, it was already late and both my brother and I were tired after the long ride. Have you ever tried to sleep in a wagon while it's driving on a bumpy road? It's not easy, I'll tell you that much. So we decided to rent ourselves rooms from a local tavern. Winking Skeever it was called back then, I think. Nice little place it was. The owner was… well… I'll get to that part later. We paid for two beds for one night.

The tavern was really a nice place. Already back then I liked spending my time at places like that. It wasn't the drinks, no. The mead was like piss in that place. It was the people, the music, the _atmosphere_, you know? There were regular people from the city in the Skeever, bards from the College, shopkeepers from the plaza and even some Legionaries that had most likely snuck in without telling their officers about it. We had quite fun with Blaise, to tell you the truth. We spent the whole night listening to the other patrons.

The next morning Blaise went to talk with the people of the College. He was taken in right away, no questions asked. I bid him farewell and spent the whole day walking around the city and the areas outside of it. There wasn't really that much to do, unless you were a hero or something. With my limited amount of gold I couldn't buy anything and spending the whole day at the Temple of the Divines was not really my thing. But I had fun all the same. And after a long day I returned back to the tavern.

Back at the Winking Skeever I was forced to face my problems. Well, I should probably say a problem, in singular. I had no money.

Well, technically I had some gold with me, but the amount of wasn't really… that grand. If I recall correctly, I had enough Septims to stay at the inn for a week, then I would be forced to sleep on the streets. A big portion of my gold had already been spent on the ride to Solitude and the drinks and food from the night before had not been exactly cheap either. I would have to come up with a solution and quickly.

So, as any person with a head on their shoulders would do, I started looking for an employment. I went asking around if anyone needed an extra hand and I did get some odd-jobs to do. For example I delivered some messages for few Septims, babysat some kids and that sort of things, but I was still losing money. Staying at the inn as expensive! The food wasn't cheap either. I managed to get by for a few weeks, but things weren't going that great. I just knew that if I kept up living like that, I would surely end up back on the streets. And what a disgrace I would be to my mother if that was to be my destiny!

After some time I came to realize that living in a big city was way too expensive if you had no job. So I decided that I would have to leave. As much as travelling the roads of Skyrim all by myself frightened me, I just couldn't stay if I wasn't going to get a steady flow of gold from somewhere.

So I decided to pack what little I had brought with me and leave. I did not want to face Blaise only to tell him that I was leaving. I knew that he would offer me his share of the gold and I didn't want it. I was too prideful back then. And stubborn, when I wanted to. I actually thought about writing him a letter and sneaking out of the city in the dead of the night.

But that was not how things went. Oh no. I was… well… I should probably say that I was lucky enough to get a job on the last minute before leaving. Yes, that is how I should phrase it, although I'm not sure whether it was good or bad luck.

As I was leaving the Winking Skeever, I went to the counter to talk with the owner of the place. He was a sleazy man, always watch out for those. They only want to use you to their own selfish means. Steer clear from those kinds of people, you hear me? Well, I went to him to ask if he could give the letter I had written to my brother next time he would come to the tavern looking for me.

"Are you leaving already, lil' miss?"

"Yes," I told him. "I'm running out of gold so… Can't really stay here."

"Aren't you babysitting those brats anymore?"

"No sir. I can't exactly afford to live here with gold from once-a-week babysitting."

And that was when I saw a selfish gleam in his eyes. I didn't think much of it at the time, but just seeing it gave me the creeps. That was the moment he offered me a place to work and I was foolish and desperate enough to take it.

"You should have come to me in the first place," I remember him saying with the warmest of smiles. "I think we can come up with an arrangement that suits us both."

I know I make it sound like I had just sold my soul to something evil, but not. It wasn't really all that bad… well… Maybe it's better if I just explain it to you.

You see, at first I was more than happy to get a chance to work at the inn. I loved the idea to get to interact with the customers and get paid for it. But that wasn't exactly the kind of job description the owner of the place, this old coot named Banner, had in mind. No. He already had all the waitresses he needed, so I got to do all the jobs no-one else wanted to do. I was the one cleaning the tavern alone after closing hours, stocking food and beverages which basically meant carrying heavy crates from the docks to the tavern and on some nights Banner even made work as his bouncer! Can you believe it? Me! I was hardly menacing enough to raise my voice at calm housemothers that came to have drink after their children had gone to bed, let alone some mean drunks that wanted to kill the next person that got on their way. Luckily I had made friends with the local guards, so on the worst nights I sought their aid.

But I'm not saying hard work was a bad thing. Oh no, working day and night was something I liked and even though I was treated like dirt most of the time, I much rather worked my fingers to the bone cleaning vomit from the floor on my all fours than begged coins from random strangers. The real problem was that Banner was paying me minimum wages. I barely earned enough gold to pay for a rented bed at the same tavern that I spent my days working at. The owner of the place was bleeding me dry! Every Septim I earned went straight back to his purse.

During those hard months I really started thinking about marriage. I hardly made enough money to live by myself. But most of the women of Solitude didn't work at all, can you believe it? They just sat in their houses, cleaning and taking care of the children and their husbands paid from it all. As much as I despised that, I started thinking that maybe that was the way I should do it as well. At the time I had had this short fling with this guard. His name was Rolf and he was a really nice man. Really nice. Too bad he wasn't the smartest of guys, you know. He was one of those people that you love to spend time with, but who have absolutely no idea what you are thinking. And I still had had my ring. Even though I had considered selling it for some much needed money, I still had it. Nowadays I thank the Divines that I didn't get married back then. That would have been the biggest mistake of my life!

Hmh. I must make it sound so bad, my life I mean. All hard work and no fun! But that's not true. You have to remember that I wasn't alone. Blaise came to see me every weekend and we had long walks outside of the walls of Solitude. He was doing great, by the way. He was learning fast and making friends. That lute of his made people from all around to come and see the young student of the College. He was gaining a name for himself at that young! We also got many letters from Fjola, describing how things were going at the manor and how our other siblings were doing. And Blaise of course, bless his soul, wrote back every month. We even got to see Iona one day, when she stopped by to collect a bounty from the Palace. Things weren't really all that bad.

But I'm afraid that's not how the story ends. I did not, after all, spend the rest of my life at the Winking Skeever, playing a slave for nearly non-existent gold. You see, winter was coming, and fast.

You know how it is in Skyrim. Once the air starts to cool down, you just now that it's going to snow soon. And I realized that I had not prepared for the cold months of the north. The tunic I had brought with me was not sturdy enough to keep me warm against the freeing winds from Sea of Ghosts and I was in desperate need of a new one. I knew that Banner would not let me spend the winter indoors, since he had gotten the brilliant idea to 'let me work' at his friend Katla's farm nearby. Taking care of animals was easy. Doing it in the snow with nothing but light clothing would earn me a pneumonia. And shoveling manure can only keep you so warm.

I talked about my problem with Blaise. Oh dear that sweetheart, he offered me his gold as I had feared he would. He had been earning quite well at the College, since he needed to pay neither for his accommodation nor food. As jealous as I was back then, I refused to take the money. Call it a desperate woman's pride, if you will. Every time he offered, I would get mad and yell at him, poor thing. And after a while he gave up.

I would have probably ended up dying in the cold if it hadn't been for a travelling Khajit caravan stopping by just outside the walls of Solitude. I mean, there was a nice little boutique for fine clothing in the city but the prizes of that place were ridiculous. I already knew my share of trading back then and the old hag that owned the place… What was it called? Radiant Raiment or something like that. What was I saying? Oh yes, the owner of the place was not one to haggle with her customers. Khajit on the other hand were another story.

As you know, even back then Khajit traders were not allowed inside the city. In my opinion that is just stupid. What are people thinking? That they are going to start snatching children? And as tolerant as Solitude was, the Khajit were forced to stay out.

I was already familiar with the leader of that particular group. Her name was Ahkari and her caravan often stopped at our house when I still lived in the Lakeview Manor. She recognized me as well and asked me to sit down with her.

"Ahkari is surprised to see this one in Solitude. Has young Helena moved out of her mother's dwelling?"

"Yes, ma'am. We are all trying to live on our own now."

"Ah, yes. The small ones grow up so fast," I remember the old feline saying.

After our little courtesy talk I started looking through their wares. There wasn't really that much to look at, but I did find one tunic that would have been perfect.

"Ah," Ahkari purred. "A fine choice, little one. Wolf skin will keep you warm even in the coldest of winters."

But when we started bargaining, I became painfully aware that I could not afford the cloth with my pitiful amount of gold.

"Well, maybe this one has something to trade with, hmm?" I remember the merchant saying.

And that was, I think, when I made one of the biggest mistakes in my life. I traded the ring I had gotten from my mother to the wolf skin jacket. And boy, would I regret that later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:**_ I admit, this chapter was pure pain for me. For some reason I just never was happy with how things were going and kept bashing my head against wall while re-reading it. Painful! And trying to come up with something for Marcus to sing… well, let's just say that I am no lyricist and leave it to that. Hopefully my muse won't force me to go through that again in a while!_

* * *

"You did what?" Marcus all but shouted.

"Oh, look at the time. I'm sorry my boy, lunch hour starts soon you have no idea how crowded this place is going to be. I have to make sure everything is ready. We'll continue our little chat later, shall we?"

"Wait a second!" Marcus said standing up. "You are going to leave the story unfinished. _For a second time?_"

"Well… Yes. But I did end on a good spot, didn't I? Not in the middle of some exciting battle scene or an interesting conversation," the woman said pleasantly.

"_Now I don't know what happened to the ring!_"

"Please stop shouting. You'll scare away the customers."

"But… But… How… You're saying you sold the ring," Marcus said following the woman as she made her way back to the counter. "But you're wearing it as we speak! How is that possible? And how could you sell a ring that _the_ Dragonborn gave to you? She was your mother!"

"Oh, it's not that big of a deal," the barkeep said dismissing the situation with a shrug. "After all, I got the ring back, later, didn't I? With the side of some serious scolding from Fjola. Of dear, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget how she screamed at my face like I had just committed murder or something. Did you know that she had a weird way of turning light pink when she was angry? She did that when she got drunk too. Not many know that about the Dragonborn. Maybe you should write a song about that."

This didn't make any sense! The infuriating woman refused to answer his questions, choosing only to smirk amusedly at the bard as he was stuttering in disbelief. And as people started pouring in through the door, Marcus was completely forgotten.

"This is insane," he muttered aloud his thoughts as he sulked out of the tavern. "How can she have the ring if she sold it? Is she lying to me? Making up the story as she goes? That must be it. Damn. She could've kept on talking, not leaving the story unfinished _again._"

Outside clouds were once again gathering on the sky as the bard decided to have a little walk to cool his thoughts. Following the road he kept muttering to himself, annoyed by the old innkeeper's actions. How annoying! She was doing on purpose, aggravating him for her own amusement. How typical. This was exactly what people did to him. Played him, picked on him, _annoyed him on purpose!_ Marcus had thought that this innkeeper was different, but no. Oh _no,_ she was just like everyone else.

Frustrated with his own anger Marcus kicked a frozen piece of mud. He was all alone, there was no-one else on the road. The storm from the night before had probably made people change their travelling schedules, nobody wanted to get caught in a snowstorm out in the Pale. There weren't exactly that many houses around there to seek shelter from.

Marcus stopped as he noticed an old sign post nearly buried in a huge pile of snow. He was on the road to Windhelm. If he kept on walking, he would reach the city in a few short days. That was where he had been heading, wasn't it? That was his goal. He had already wasted most of the day sitting around in a tavern, he should probably just pack up his gears and leave when the sun was still high. Who knew how quickly the storm would return? He should really get going, before it started snowing again.

After a while the young bard's thoughts started settling down. The cold air of the winter can do that to you. He started to hum to himself as he walked. He had had this tune in his head for quite a while now. It had been there somewhere, at the back of his head, but so far he hadn't had the chance to think about it too much. Yes. He should get going, he should do it on that same day. He had to reach Windhelm at some point, now didn't he?

Marcus turned around to return back to the tavern. Sulking all by himself would do him no good if he wanted to leave on that day. He would just have to get his knapsack from the tavern and start walking. Dallying around would only make him feel worse.

Back at the tavern all the tables had been taken and Marcus could spot three different waitresses walking around the large room carrying dishes to and from hungry customers.

"Ah, you came back, my boy," Helena greeted from the counter. "I was sure you had gone for good."

"I just came back to get my things," the bard said. "Then I'll continue my journey."

"Sure thing," the woman said turning her attention to one of the waitresses who was asking something in a low tone. Noticing he had been forgotten, Marcus jogged to the second floor to retrieve his knapsack. Feeling a bit hungry he decided to grab something to eat from the tavern before leaving.

"Can I have something to go?" he asked from Helena as he went to the counter.

"Now don't be silly, boy. Sit down, sit down. I'll ask them to fix you something real quick."

"Really, I'd just rather – "

"Sit down," she commanded.

He fell to sit down by the counter, sighing aloud. After a while he let go of his sack and left it to lean against his chair. It wouldn't really hurt to stay for lunch, he just didn't like travelling after dark and during the winter days were really short. Maybe if he ate his meal quickly, he could still make it to the next rest stop before nightfall.

"Here you go, my dear boy. Eat! Eat as much as you like. It's on the house, since I like you," Helena said gleefully setting a plate before him.

Marcus could only stare at the plate filled with food. He would never be able to hog down all of that. Not in an hour, not in a day. Not ever.

"Isn't this a bit… too much?" he asked carefully.

"Bah! Nonsense, a skinny boy like you should get some meat on your bones."

Marcus sighed, picking up his spoon and knife.

"So you're not going to finish the story while I'm still here?" he asked hopefully.

The old woman smiled warmly. "Young man, I hereby swear on my mother's grave that if ever our paths cross again, I shall tell you the rest of my story. But now's not the time. I'm busy and you're about to leave, stories aren't meant to be told in a hurry, they take time. I would have time to continue tomorrow, but we both know you'll be long gone before that. But now, eat up, my boy. Eat! You'll need all the energy you can get for the long journey ahead of you."

The bard started eating. He still had time. He would still be able to travel quite far if he made haste.

But he did not feel like going anymore. After the anger from earlier had faded, the young bard didn't think he was in any hurry. Besides, he really wanted to know what had happened to the ring. So maybe he could stay for just one more night. It wasn't like the room was too expensive to rent anyway. Yes. Maybe he would stay for another night. Windhelm wasn't going anywhere, it would be there tomorrow. Just one more night.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Marcus was tossing and turning on his berth. The straw mattress rustled under him as he turned to lie on his left side. The tavern had grown silent a while back and now everyone was sleeping soundly in their rooms.

Well, everyone but him. He had been trying to fall asleep for hours only to fail miserably. Now he was starting to feel restless, moving around and trying to keep calm. Sleeplessness had never been his problem, but now Marcus just couldn't make himself relax.

It was all because of the silly tune playing over and over again in his head. It was driving him insane! He couldn't let it go, so it kept on repeating between his ears and it was keeping him from sleeping, the wretched thing! His hands twitched by his side, refusing to stay put. He turned to lie on his right side and then returned to face the ceiling.

"Oh, why do you keep torturing me like this," he muttered to the small piece of music repeating in his head. Finally giving in he sat up from the bed. A quick glance outside his window revealed it was very late in the evening. Or early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. Neither point of view made the bard feel any better. He moaned silently rubbing his unshaven cheeks.

The tiny tune kept on playing in his head, taunting the bard. It was the same one he had been humming on his walk, the piece of music just wouldn't leave him be. Retrieving his old and worn lute he started playing the tune aloud.

Sitting back down on his berth he started carefully tapping the strings of the instrument, luring out the most silent of sounds. He forced the tune out of his head hoping that would help him get some sleep afterwards.

Absentmindedly he started humming along, trying to come up some nice lyrics to put with the song. It was only a flimsy piece of a melody, but now that he was playing it, it wasn't actually that bad. It wasn't anything otherworldly, it was just a simple song. And it needed a lot of tweaking. It was a happy little tune. Suiting for a joyful song. Hmm…

He was yet to find his inspiration for a heroic tale to sing. Sure, he could make up another ballad about the Nord hero Fjola the Dragonborn's victory over Alduin the World Eater. But the thing was, there were dozens of songs about that. He could never reach critical acclaim or even recognition over something that many a bard had done before him. He needed to come up with something new, something utterly amazing and to top it all, it had to be something catchy. He wanted people to know that it had been he, Marcus of Riverwood who had composed the song on everyone's lips.

It was not easy. No. It was nothing like he had imagined.

His fingers kept on playing the lute as the young man's thoughts drifted elsewhere. He didn't even realize what he was doing until he heard his own voice singing silently the words he had never thought he would put on a song.

"_There were six children of Dragonborn, three lads as strong as wind and three ladies fair like snow. Known were they all in all around the holds, but none chose to follow the same path as another._"

He chuckled silently at the stupid little verse he had made up. Silly. Taking a bit better stance he pretended to be a serious and uptight bard singing in front of a big public.

"_Oldest of them was known as Mighty Hroar. Silent he was and frightening as well, riding with the Companions he smote the evil doers. _

_ As fierce as a dire wolf in the winter was Iona the Shieldmaiden, sellsword known from her cunning and strength. Marauders quaked in fear when she walked by, her warhammer wrecking destruction._"

Now the song was getting ridiculous. He wasn't even trying to make the lyrics rhyme anymore. But he was having too much fun!

"_Lucia and Kalt were mages from Winterhold, the siblings of fire and ice, hardly got the two of them along, fighting more against each other than by each other's side._

_ Blaise the Blessed was a bard with voice blessed by the Divines. His songs would live long after him, though none could mimic his talent._"

This was fun, Marcus thought. The words were flowing out of his mouth like someone else was planting them there. He played a short interlude, not hearing steps outside his door.

"_Now Helena of Dragon's Tooth inn was – _"

There was a knock on his door and Marcus startled nearly dropping his lute in the process. Scuffling to his feet he tried to hold onto the remaining of his calm as he went to the door.

"Um… Yes?" the bard asked through the door, feeling heat rising to his face.

"Sorry to trouble you," said Helena's familiar voice through the wooden door, "but someone came to complain about the noise. Apparently people don't like waking up in the middle of the night to hear your composing your ballads. Go figure."

Marcus felt mortified. He thought he had kept his voice down, but the walls really were like paper in this inn.

"Sorry, lady Helena," he whispered.

"Stop calling me a lady!"

"Sorry."

It was silent for a while. Then the innkeeper started talking again.

"Are you decent?"

"Um… Yes, I am."

"Good," the old woman said opening the door. "'Cause you are having a drink with me. Come on, let's head downstairs."

She left him like that, in his nightwear standing by the door. The woman didn't even spare a second glance as she headed downstairs.

"Oh, fine!" he muttered. "I'll go, I'll go."

Down at the tavern Helena had already picked up two tankards and filled them with relatively cheap mead.

"Just these two pints, no more," she said more to herself than the confused bard sitting down next to her.

"So… Is now a good time to continue the story?" he asked curiously.

"Hmh. Yes. Why not," Helena said rubbing her brow. "I'm not going to be able to talk much today, though. I am too tired, my boy. Too tired. But I'll continue. After this night though, we are going to have to have a little break."

"What? Why?" Marcus asked, even more confused now.

"I need to travel to Windhelm. Our stocks are running low and the next delivery is late. Since no heroes have assed here in hopes of making a quick coin, I'm going to have to ride there myself. But that is not your concern, you were leaving as well, weren't you? So, you wish for me to keep talking?"

"Oh yes. Please do."

"Fine. So let's pick up where we left."


	6. Chapter 6

I bet you're dying to know how I got the ring back, aren't you? Oh, stop trying to lie to me, I can see it on your face. I'll get to that part soon enough, don't you worry about that. But I can't just go ahead jumping and leaving other parts untold, now can I?

Well, to tell you the truth, there isn't much to tell about the time that I spent without the ring. That winter wasn't any different from any others before that, it was cold and there must have been a man's length of snow on the ground at some point. After I bought the new tunic, things went back to normalcy. I started working at Katla's farm while I wasn't at the tavern and actually managed to save some gold thanks to that. Blaise kept visiting me every once in a while, but his visits were becoming less and less frequent. That boy was finally making friends. _Real_ friends, that is. Not just those people that spend time with you because you are popular. And I guess it was during that time that he met his wife-to-be, Svari. I never liked that girl, mind you, but he seemed to be smitten. For some reason.

And before I even realized, half a year had went by. Half of my 'exile' had come and gone, and only another half-a-year to go before I could return home. That made me so happy. Time seemed to fly as I worked hard.

Somewhere around that time Blaise and I both got a letter from Fjola. She told us she would be visiting us soon to see how we were doing. I was excited, of course, but also frightened. I had not seen my mother in six months and I knew that her expectations were high. I just knew that it would be hard to face her only to show that I had become a common worker instead of something… well… fancy. She had already seen how Iona and Hroar turned out, Kalt and Lucia seemed to be doing well with their studies and Blaise was gaining a name on himself. And then there was me. Oh boy, was I nervous indeed.

Both Blaise and I decided to meet mother at the Winking Skeever. To me it was the easiest solution since I knew that I would probably be working on that day anyway and Blaise… well, it was easy for the both of us, if you know what I mean. We met at the tavern all the time, why not deal with our mother there as well?

Waiting for Fjola to arrive was nerve-wrecking, I'll tell you. I was killing time peeling potatoes, not that hard of a duty, but no-one else wanted to do it so that was what I was doing. Blaise had been there sitting with me, drumming his fingers nervously against the table. Thank the Divines Banner, the owner of the place if you recall, had decided not to pester me on that day. There weren't that many customers at the Skeever on that day anyway.

We of course heard it when Fjola arrived Solitude. She was the hero of Skyrim, after all, and there was a certain rise in the common noise from outside the tavern. People were cheering and celebrating and we could hear the commotion all the way to the inn.

"What in the name of Ysgramor is going on out there?" Banner muttered from behind the counter.

I remember facing Blaise and nodding. We both knew that mother had arrived and I could see how nervous Blaise was. He was nervous! He had no reason to be, he was a student at a respected College when I wasn't even good enough to be a barmaid. Oh, that boy. You should have met him, such a sweetheart. Such a sweetheart.

Where was I? Oh yes. The door of the Skeever was thrown open with force and both Blaise and I among the rest of the patrons turned our heads to see the woman standing in the doorway.

"Mother!" I remember Blaise greeting with glee. I remember how he went to Fjola to give her a hug and boy do I remember how I paled after seeing her face. Our mother was furious, it was easy to tell. Remember what I said about her face getting pink? Yeah. She pushed my brother aside to walk to me and somehow I knew that I was in trouble.

"You!" she all but shouted. "_Why?_ Why did you…?! I… Don't you even…?!"

You know, Fjola used to have this strangest of ways of losing her wording when she was angry. She was one of those people who would rather hit you than argue you. And when she was looming over me with fire in her eyes I actually thought that she was about to feed me to dragons.

Luckily Blaise saw my… situation and came to my aid.

"What is going on? Mother! Why are you shouting?"

For a second time Fjola shoved my brother away to glare at me. I shrunk down on my chair and hoped I could just slither away like a scared little vermin.

It took us a while to get her to cool down. All praise belongs to Blaise and his soothing words. He sat mother down to talk to her but Fjola couldn't manage to say anything that made sense. But I was already starting to have a bad forethought about this. I had no idea how she could have found out, but the anger in her eyes told more than her fumbling words ever could.

After a long while of cooling off and a few tankards of mead she finally managed to collect her thoughts enough to hand me a small satchel.

"Open it," she simply said, not even facing me. And I did as I was told.

I had been right. As I opened the small leather pouch, I found a very familiar ring.

At that moment I was starting to believe that the damn thing was cursed. I couldn't even get rid of it! It had come back to me even though I had traded it with fair price and mother looked like she was ready to smack me senseless.

"Ahkari and her caravan came by the other day," Fjola said with barely managed anger. "Said they had seen you in Solitude and traded with you. I got interested and started asking. Shouldn't have done that, now should I?"

I didn't dare to say anything. I still remember how frightened I was. Mother had never before shouted at me, I had always been the good child that did everything that was asked or failed trying. Never had she raised her voice to me. I was terrified to say the least.

"I had to travel to Markarth and buy it back from a rich son of a bitch from there. Have you any idea how much it cost to get it back?"

I tried to mumble an angered answer but my words came out too silent.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear. I didn't really catch that. Could you please repeat?" she asked with mock worry.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have bought it back!"

"What?"

"Maybe I don't want the damn ring! Maybe I don't want to wear it! Maybe I sold it to get rid of the ugly thing!"

Oh, you look a bit shocked, Marcus. Are you? I understand. Yelling isn't something I do that often. And raising my voice to my own mother was something even worse. I was embarrassed, sad and even a bit scared of Fjola, but those are all just excuses. I did what I did and I am not proud of it. And the moment those final words were said, I knew I had made a mistake.

Mother fell silent after that. She had this… this… dangerous look in her eyes that just screamed anger even though she said nothing herself. I backed away from her, if I remember correctly I knocked over that bucket filled with potatoes that I had been working with so far.

But I didn't get away. Mother took a few swift steps and caught my hand. Just like that. She held my left hand up like this, spreading my fingers thusly. See how I'm holding my hand now? That is exactly how she was holding it. And trust me, it hurt. A lot.

"You are my daughter," she said with a low tone that still haunts my nightmares every now and then. "And it was your choice to live in my house, under my rules. And you will respect me like a daughter should."

And that was when she forced the ring onto my finger. This middle finger right here. See this scar on it? It has faded quite much since after that fateful day but it's still there. I don't know what sort of a curse she put on the ring, but after that day I was not able to remove the thing in quite some time. It dug into my skin, cutting through it like a razor. Even now I'm not sure if it was something my mother did to the ring on that day or if the same would have happened if I had ever put the ring on my finger on my own free will. I had never even tried it on before that. Believe me, it was rather… shall we say disturbing day.

"You are no longer welcome to my house. No until you can get that damn ring off of your finger on your own. Until that happens, do not show your face to me. You are a disgrace!"

You seem a bit upset, young man. Is everything alright? Well, I was upset as well, back then. Very upset indeed. Those were the last words mother said to me in years. I only got to meet her later when she would come to visit me at my tavern. Not even after I got the ring off of my finger did I dare to go to meet her. I was embarrassed. It wasn't like I was afraid… Oh well, let's cut the crap. I was afraid to face her after that and that's why we didn't really connect that well afterwards. We did apologize later on, but things never really got back to what they had used to be. But now I'm jumping ahead of things again. Forgive me.

After that day I ended up leaving Solitude for good. There were plenty of reasons on my head, but I guess the most important one was that Banner threw me out of his tavern. Said I had been slacking around, but I know it was because of the fiasco with my mother. No-one wanted to employ a disgraced daughter of a hero, that's bad for business. There was no employment for me in that city, so I took the little I had and left. I would have probably forgotten all about my dear Blaise if he hadn't caught up on me just outside of Solitude.

He didn't say anything. He was understanding like that. He simply lifted my hand and took in the damage. My middle finger was still bleeding, if memory serves me right, and the pain was… well… I would be exaggerating if I said unbearable, but it wasn't nice either. Without a word Blaise gave me a pouch filled with coins and a small vial of healing potion.

I tried to refuse, of course. I was still very much against exploiting my brother's financial success, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Oh, I owe so much to that boy and I don't think I ever got the chance to fully repay him all that he has done to me. And now it is too late. In the end I gave in and took both the money and the potion. And with that I left the city, in hopes of finding a new place to stay.


	7. Chapter 7

Marcus woke up to the sound of horses neighing just outside his window. Groggily he stood up rubbing his eyes. Slowly he slouched to the window to take a peek through the fogged glass. He could barely see the shape of a big dark animal being guided to the yard. It was a sturdy stallion and must have cost a fortune. Good horses could be worth their weight in gold, if you happen to find the worst kind of seller. Marcus watched with sleepy eyes as the stable boys put a saddle on the animal.

Oh yes. Helena had said something about travelling to Windhelm.

Wait. Windhelm? Wasn't that where he was heading as well?

Suddenly Marcus felt all fatigue disappear as he jolted to toss his belongings to his knapsack. He stumbled down the stairs almost falling a few times and making the barmaids giggle as he ran past them. The young bard barely remembered to pull on his tunic as he threw himself out of the front door of Dragon's Tooth inn. He got out just in time to see Helena climb on the horse's back.

"Ah! Good to see you, my boy," the woman said with a smile. She was probably wearing her most expensive clothes and she looked like a noblewoman on her horse. "Well, I'm off now. I'll be back in a few days, but I guess you'll be gone by then."

"I want to go with you!" Marcus blurted out in a hurry.

The graying woman lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that so? I definitely don't need a bodyguard on my journey, I'll be meeting up with Hugo on the way. You remember Hugo, right?"

"Yes, yes I remember him, but it's just that… um… I…" Suddenly he was at a loss for words. Why did he want to travel with the old woman? It wasn't like he couldn't go to Windhelm by himself. "I am going to Windhelm as well, you know and… well… There's safety in numbers."

Helena just laughed at that. "More travelers means we are more likely to be ambushed by bandits, dear boy. But if you want to rent a horse, then I'm not stopping you. That will be twenty Septims, by the way."

Twenty Septims was a fair price for a good horse. Marcus did not waste time throwing the coins in to the hands of a stable boy and picking up the first horse that he found. And fifteen minutes later the innkeeper and the bard were both riding side by side.

"So, Marcus, what makes you want to see Windhelm so much?" Helena asked good-naturedly.

The bard turned to face the woman. "Do you even need to ask?" he said eyes clouding with daydreams of heroes. "It is _the_ city of Ulfric Stormcloak! The hero, the ruler. The man that shouted the High King apart! If I'm going to find inspiration somewhere, that's the place!"

The old woman just smiled silently, not facing the excited bard. Marcus noticed it wasn't the sincerest of smiles.

"Oh yes, you used to live in Windhelm," he realized. "I completely forgot."

Helena just scoffed. "Yes well, I'm not sure if begging on the streets can really be called living, but I guess you are right."

"So, what is it like? I've only heard stories of it, but everything I've heard has been so… so… grand! I've lived in Solitude all my life and I've been dreaming of travelling to see the Palace if Kings for quite some time now. Please tell me."

"I…" the woman started slowly. "I have been taught that if you have nothing good to say about something, don't say anything at all."

The bard looked at the innkeeper appalled. "What? You can't be serious! Just because you have some bad memories about – "

"Leave it, boy. I do not wish to talk about it. Hmph. Grand indeed. I bet all the stories you have heard have fallen from the lips of Nords. Ask an Argonian or Dunmer, and you'll hear a completely different story. Now either change the subject or shut it."

The conversation died down after that. Helena did not seem to be on a good mood. She was like a cave bear woken up from its hibernation and you don't go poking around animals like that. After about an hour of riding in silence they met up with Hugo. The man came riding down the road they had been travelling, wearing a grim look on his face. He exchanged courtesies with Helena and gave a semi-soft grunt as an acknowledgement at Marcus and after that they continued their journey without another word. It was all a bit awkward.

The good side about riding a horse to Windhlem compared to walking was that they got to their destination in one day. Well, Marcus thought, maybe there weren't really any bad sides anyway. But it was notably faster than walking. As the sun started setting, the three horses and their riders arrived at the Windhelm stables.

"Where are you going to spend your night?" Marcus heard the burly Companion ask from the old lady.

"I have an old friend at the New Gnisis Cornerclub who owes me a favor. I don't think you two have met. It's a great story, by the way. But I this will do splendidly, he can pay me back by letting me stay for a night," Helena said.

"Oh, but don't you want to spend a night at the Candelhearth Hall?" Marcus asked excitedly, momentarily forgetting the awkward silence that had lingered above them just a moment ago. "I've heard it's one of the best taverns in whole Skyrim!"

This earned a cold glare from Hugo and sad shake of a head from Helena.

"You go ahead and rent a room from there, my boy," the old woman said kindly. "But I'm afraid this is where we must bid farewell. I wish you safe journeys and good luck with your future. I do hope you find inspiration to your new ballads from here."

"Oh…" the bard said surprised. "Oh. Well… yes. Okay. Well… Good bye, I guess and… good luck as well. I… guess I'll be heading to the tavern now…"

"You do that."

He was feeling confused. He had thought they would be spending more time together in the city, that Helena might show him around a bit, but now they were going their own separate ways? Well, maybe it had been silly to think that. Helena did have some work to be after all. So the bard nodded, picking up his bag and guiding his steps towards the city as the innkeeper and her nephew stayed behind to talk with the owner of the stables.

-o-o-o-o-o-

At first, the city had been wonderful, like a dream come true. It had been all Marcus had ever hoped it would be, a pulsing vein of heroic tales and history. The city itself was a story of its own, the old stony buildings telling their chronicles from the past decades, the people he met were kind and ready to talk. Many of the citizens had stories of their own to tell and the young bard had been in hurry to write it all down in hopes of getting the inspiration he wanted.

At first it had been like a paradise for a man like him. He had been blinded by his own excitement. But then the problems had started to emerge.

Despite all of his efforts to feed his inner muse, he still got no idea what to sing about. He tried and tired to compose his masterpiece, something that would make people say: "Ooh!" and "Ah!" But you can't just force yourself to find inspiration, it has to come to you. So, as he was staring at his empty parchment, the young bard's head felt so empty he just wanted to rip the white material under his fingers apart. All he had was short tunes, not even a good melody.

That was when Marcus started getting irritated. Even the smallest things set him up, made him shout at people that got on his way. The friends he had made on the first three days n Windhelm started avoiding him as he snapped at them for breathing too loudly when he was trying to think. He just wanted to write some ballads, how hard could it be?

After a week he started losing his sleep. He was too anxious to stay put for long time periods. He felt the need to write something, but every time he grabbed his quill, all ideas were drained from his head. Marcus was getting desperate and it was starting to show. And that was when he started to really look around himself.

Windhelm was not the city of dreams he had spent days upon days thinking about. It was a damned hole built from stone and divided the different races. There were no heroes in the stony city. There were only people. Just like in Solitude. These were all regular people, merchants, mercenaries, blacksmiths and soldiers.

And none of them could give him what he wanted. A story worth singing about.

Was he destined to never find his inspiration? What should he do if that really how it was to be? He did not want to go back to Solitude. No, not after leaving with the arrogance he had had back then. They would laugh at him, the milk-drinker he was. He could not go back.

Solitude had been the only home he had known. Of course now he could go where ever he wanted, the world was waiting. Riften wasn't that far and Whiterun would have its own share of tales to tell, but neither of those places enticed him.

Who was he kidding? All he really wanted to do at the moment was the Dragon's Tooth inn. Why? He wasn't exactly sure. The beds were cheap and the mead wasn't too strong for him there. And the story… Helena's story had been left unfinished. He wanted to know more. He wanted to go back to the familiar tavern, sit down by the fire and listen to the old woman's calming voice as she talked about the days of the old.

Marcus wondered what the old woman was doing at the moment. She had left Windhelm days ago, taking both of the horses as she rode back to her place. She hadn't even come to say good bye, she'd just left like that. Maybe she had found a new victim to share her story with. Who knew, maybe she was sharing her story with complete strangers right as Marcus was thinking about it.

That would not do. _He_ was the one that deserved to know the story. The _whole_ story. And it was not like he was in a hurry to go anywhere else. Yes. It was decided. He would return back to the Dragon's Tooth inn if only to hear the rest of the story. If memory served right, it would take Helena quite some time to get to the end of her tale and that would give Marcus time to decide where he would go afterwards. And who knew, maybe he would get that inspiration he longed for while sitting in the tavern with a tankard in his hand.

So without further delay the bard bought some needed supplies and set his course to the old tavern.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It took two and a half days for Marcus to reach Helena's tavern without a horse. He walked all the way, spending his nights at small rest stops by the road and days moving without much of a rest. His journey was a peaceful one, the bard did not encounter even a lone wolf on his way. The road was clear most of the way and even the sun peeked through the thick veil of clouds every now and then.

When he finally reached his destination, the sun had already setting and the sky was getting dark. Seeing the familiar shape of the wooden building made a smile form on the bard's lips. Even though he had only spent a few short days at the tavern, it already felt like… well… not exactly home, but as close as you can get to it. He could not wait to get to see Helena. She would be so surprised!

There was some sort of commotion going on. People had gathered around outside of the tavern and were shouting at somebody. Marcus slowed down his pace and stopped by the mass of people.

"Come on, how long is this going to take?" someone shouted.

"Remain calm, ma'am. This will only take as long as lady Helena makes it last."

Marcus tried to see over the sea of heads but he wasn't the tallest of men. In the end he was standing on his toes to see over the shoulder of a woman standing before him.

There was a man dressed in the robes of Vigilantes of Stendarr. This was not one of the men and women that had visited Helena's tavern before, but Marcus had the feeling he was part of the same group. The man had an ugly scowl on his face and he did not look too happy.

"What is going on?" the bard asked from the woman who was currently blocking his view.

"The Vigilantes are talking to the innkeeper and no-one's allowed in," she complained voice booming loudly. "I just want my nightly drink, that's all!"

On the side of the yard the bard could see one of the barmaids sobbing. Seeing a familiar face he quickly went to her side. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her nose was running. Marcus quickly sat down next to her and started rubbing the woman's shoulder trying to calm her down. He asked what was going on.

"They came before the busy hours and threw us all out," the woman cried. "And they've had here there for a while now. W- w- what am I going to do?"

"Has anyone gone to the guards?" Marcus asked.

"N- no. They are the _Vigilantes_!" she shouted desperately. "Guards won't attack servants of the god of mercy!"

That was true. Marcus cursed silently as his eyes wandered to the man standing in guard before the tavern door.

"They don't have to know these are the Vigilantes, now do they?" he asked. "Go and get the guards anyway. Tell them some people are harassing Helena."

"O- okay," the barmaid said trying to wipe off her tears. "But what if I'm too late? What if – "

"Then you should be running now, shouldn't you?"

"Oh. Yes." The woman gathered the hem of her skirt to her hands and started jogging. Marcus on the other hand needed to head to the opposite direction.

He walked past the crowd, shoving his way through the group of angry people that wanted their nightly tankards. He went straight to the Vigilante standing by the door like a stone statue.

"Um… Hi!" he said trying to reach his happy-go-lucky bard voice.

It only earned him a cold glare. He would have to come up with a good excuse to get in.

"I… I'm Marcus. I… I… um… I work as a bard in this fine establishment. Yes, that's right. Yeah. I wish to enter, if that's okay with you, sir."

The man smirked humorlessly. "Yeah," he said. "Right." The Vigilante did not budge.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. Just… let me in, please. I… I have money."

"Move it, stub, before I get mad."

Typical tough-guy talk. Well, the Vigilante did look like a tough guy. He must have been a head taller than the scrawny bard and at least twice as wide. And he looked like he could shatter a skull into pieces with his bare hands. Marcus gulped aloud. Was he really doing this? He really needed to get indoors. To get Helena out of there.

"I… I…" he stuttered.

The man was sneering.

"I would leave, but… uh… I just didn't like what that one man was saying about you, over there."

He did not just say that. The bard wanted to vanish, melt from his shame. A bard like him should be able to come up with a far better lie. Something that would actually be plausible, not the old 'that guy said you're mother is a fat cow' trick. The Vigilante would never buy it. Oh, how he was ashamed!

"What did he say about me?" the man by the door asked, his voice lowering dangerously.

Marcus sank lower as the man's eyes were scorching him.

"He said that you look like a sissy milk-drinker, that's all," he squeaked. The bard watched with horror as the man's face changed from fairly normal to rage red in mere seconds. Then he covered his ears as the Vigilante roared loudly.

"_Who said that?!_" he screamed.

He fell for that. That idiot actually fell for that, Marcus thought in wonder as the towering brute took out his sword and started shouting at the people gathered around the tavern.

As the Vigilante was obviously occupied, the bard tiptoed to the door and sneaked in.

It was dark in the tavern and it took a while for Marcus' eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when they did, he saw four Vigilantes cornering Helena with menacing looks. Marcus gasped aloud when he saw the leader of the group holding a knife on the old woman's throat. All eyes were on the bard when his wheeze of a breath was heard.

"Who in the name of Talos is that?" one of the Vigilantes muttered.

"Marcus?" Helena gasped. "Is that you? What are you doing in here?"

The leader of the group was familiar. It was the same man that had threatened the innkeeper before. Marcus could remember his face, but not name. The man was looking at the bard like he was a piece of manure on his best boots.

"Where is my guard, boy?" he asked menacingly.

"Guard? Oh, guards!" Marcus said, feeling his whole body tremble like crazy. "The guards have been summoned! They will be here any minute now."

"They will not harm us!" the leader remarked. "We serve Stendarr, the god of mercy! The guards will not touch us!"

"When they see you ganging up on a respectful old lady, they won't really care who you are serving!" Marcus shouted with slight desperation slipping into his voice.

"Come on," one of the Vigilantes mumbled. "We can come back later."

"No!" the leader all but shouted. "I have had enough with this! Tell s where he is, or so help me – "

Helena cut the man short by slapping him with force. The Vigilante was rendered speechless as he lifted his hand to touch the spot where the old woman's palm had landed.

"Please leave my tavern, this is the last time I'm asking nicely," Helena said humorlessly, acting like there was no knife on her throat. "Next time I won't be so nice. And that, my boy, is a fact."

The leader of the group grumbled, finally retreating away from the woman. Marcus felt like he was able to breathe freely as he saw the knife moving away from the innkeeper.

"You are making a serious mistake," he muttered as he sulked out of the door. As he went he kicked down a few chairs, an act of childishness from a full grow man. They left rather peacefully, but Marcus had a feeling they were not gone for good.

As the door slammed shut, Marcus dashed to the old woman, helping her to sit down.

"What was that?" he asked, still panicking and sweating like a pig going to slaughter. The innkeeper sighed silently.

"People with strong opinions," she said softly. "Don't worry about them. Did anyone get hurt? My customers? The barmaids?"

"I don't think so," the bard answered, his thoughts returning to the brute he had coaxed to attack the group outside of Dragon's Tooth.

"Thank the Divines," Helena muttered holding her head. "Thank the Divines."

Marcus sat down next to the old woman trying to come up with something soothing to say. Nothing came to mind. He had nothing to say.

The door opened again and some of the customers and employees started pouring back in. The barmaid that had gone to get the guards came running in, dashing to Helena.

"I'm s- s- so sorry," she sobbed clinging to the old woman's hem. "I didn't know what to d- d- do!"

"Don't cry, little girl," Helena cooed tiredly. "We are all alright, no-one got hurt."

"What happened to the guards?" Marcus asked from the maid.

"Some of them went after the Vigilantes to question them, but those men had horses. But most of them just went back to their post."

Typical. Law enforcements of Skyrim were sketchy to say the least.

"What should I do now, Helena?" the maid asked, still looking like she had cried her eyes out.

The old woman looked tired. She was fingering her grey braids, a far off look in her eyes.

"Lady Helena?"

"Just…" she started slowly. "Just get everybody drinking. A bit of alcohol will make everyone forget about this day, I think. Just get the mead flowing, that should do the trick."

The maid nodded sniffing loudly and went back to the counter. Marcus on the other hand remained by Helena's side, sitting silently with the woman.

"What do they want? The Vigilantes?" he asked softly.

The old woman shook her head. "There might be a time when I want to talk about that, but now is really not that time. I apologize."

He nodded. Marcus could see bags under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping well in quite some time. Again, Helena's eyes glazed and for a long while all she did was stare in to the far end of the tavern. She looked so tired.

"Have you even considered giving them what they want? Whatever it is," Marcus asked carefully, trying to see if he was going too far with his questions.

"Yes," the woman said slowly. "But they don't know what they want. They are all but a bunch of idiots. Children that seek to prove themselves in the eyes of their older." Helena turned to look at the bard seriously. "Now. As glad as I am to see you again, Marcus, I have to wonder what you are doing in here. The last time I saw you, you were at the Candelhearth Hall."

"You were there?"

"Yes, came to say good bye, but thought it would be better to just leave you be. You were talking with that old bard at the time," she said softly, the empty look in her eyes slowly disappearing. "They don't exactly like me at the good old Windhelm. Didn't want to ruin your reputation."

"Oh… well, I guess I just couldn't leave the story unfinished," he admitted with a shy smile, turning his face downward. "And… City life was kind of different in the Windhelm compared to good old Solitude, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I do my boy, I do," Helena said with a laugh that almost sounded genuine. "I wasn't aware my story was that captivating. But I think now would be as good time to continue as any. Where did we stop the last time?"

"I think it was – "

His words were caught off by a silent thump. It was barely inaudible and covered with the rising noise in the tavern, but he heard it all the same.

"Hmh? What is it, my boy?" Helena asked curiously.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That sound, that… 'thump'. Did you hear it?"

"Can't say that I did…" the old woman said. "Although I have to admit my hearing has not been top notch in quite some time. Did somebody fall off of their chairs?"

For a while both of them tried to listen carefully if they would hear the sound again. When nothing came, Marcus just shrugged it off. It must have been somebody in the inn, there was no reason to examine every source of noise in a loud place like a tavern.

"The last time we were left off when you left Solitude. The ring had been cursed to stay on your finger and you were forced to leave."

"Ah, yes. Now I remember. Well then – "

He heard it again. This time it came more clearly. The bard had a bad feeling about it. He looked around suspiciously, feeling his stomach starting to churn uncomfortably. Marcus got up from his stool to walk to a window to peer through it to the yard.

"What are you doing?" Helena asked standing up as well. "Are we having more visitors? Oh for the love of Talos, could this night get any worse?"

"I'm not sure what it was," he said slowly, trying to make out the dark forms of the stable and well on the yard. There was no-one out there. All the people were already inside the tavern and from the looks of it, no-one was coming in any time soon. The sound could have come from anything. Maybe a lump of snow had fallen from the roof, it could be something as simple as that. The frost on the window made it almost impossible to see outside. But there was nothing moving out there. As it should be.

That was when he heard another thud. This time he saw what had caused it.

A flaming arrow flew like a falling star through the air and attached itself to the stable's roof. Marcus watched with horror as the roof was set on fire on an instant, like there hadn't been any snow covering the thing. The arrow must have been enchanted.

"Fire," he mumbled almost inaudibly. Then scrambling back as he saw another arrow hitting the side of Dragon's Tooth in he screamed: "_Fire!_"

The following hour went by in a haze. People were running around like headless chickens, either trying to help to put out the fire on the stables or just panicking for the sake of it. Helena was barking orders, trying to save what was left of the building, but it all seemed to be in vain.

There was nothing they could do to the stables. Once they had gotten out of the whole building was up n flames like a midsummer bonfire. They had managed to rescue three horses, the other two had been so badly burned they had to have been put down. Luckily for everybody, the tavern had been another story. The arrow that had been shot to the side of the house had been put out as quickly as possible and it only charred the south side of the building a bit. It had been a regular steel arrow. Nothing special about it.

Helena walked to it and yanked it off with effort. Marcus could see the smoking remains of the building behind her as she held the arrow in her hands.

"This," she said silently, "was a warning."

Marcus saw her knuckles go white around the shaft of the arrow. The old woman looked furious.

"Um… What should we do now?" somebody asked.

The innkeeper held the arrow closer to herself, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Go back to beds, everyone. I shall remain awake the rest of the night, keeping a watch out for more. In the morning I suggest each and every one of you find another place to stay. The Dragon's Tooth inn closes for a few nights."

Mumbling their agreements people returned back in. But Helena remained where she was standing, facing the road with a scowl on her face.

"Do you really think closing the tavern will do any good?" Marcus asked.

"No," the woman grumbled. "But what else can I do? I can't danger my patrons' lives like that. I can't do it."

"Who do you think did this?" Marcus asked.

The woman flinched irritably, giving Marcus a cold glare.

"Who do you think?" she asked and marched back in.

-o-o-o-o-o-

On the following day those who had stayed in the inn packed their bags and left the tavern. Helena and some volunteered helpers were cleaning off what remained of the stables.

The moment Helena had said she would be closing the inn for nights, the bard had decided he would stay. The innkeeper could not force him to leave, she just couldn't. There was nowhere else he would rather want to be at the moment, Marcus told himself. So he would be staying.

it took them all day to remove the charred remains of the stable out of sight and after the job was done Helena announced the drinks would be on the house for all that had helped her. It felt like things were slipping back to normalcy again, the tavern was filled to the brim of customers and two barmaids were serving everyone. Marcus was sitting with the innkeeper by the counter.

"Shouldn't you be going already?" the grey-haired woman asked. "If you want to reach the next rest stop before sundown, you should already be on your way."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I'm not leaving."

"And where do you think you'll be staying, hmm?" Helena asked with a lifted brow.

"Right here," the bard announced. "Or out there in the snow, if you won't let me sleep in here."

"Oh, you sleazy boy!" Helena laughed with mock anger. "Using my weakness to help those in need against me. Well played, Marcus. Well played."

The evening could have gone on as it had, everybody happy and tipsy, but maybe the Divines had something against the old owner of the place. After the sun had set, five visitors came through the door of Dragon's Tooth inn and made Helena scowl angrily.

"I see you have lost your stables," the leader of the small group of Vigilantes of Stendarr said without preamble. "Such a shame."

"Get out of my tavern, you filthy arsonists!" Helena grumbled.

"Now, now," the leader said good-naturedly. "You should have just done as we asked you in the first place, wouldn't you agree."

Helena came from behind the counter looking like she was ready to fight. Her eyes were flaming with anger.

"You could have killed my customers with your actions!" she shouted. "I am done being nice and polite with you and your gang of common bandits! You are no Vigilantes of Stendarr, you are just well-dressed bullies, all of you! You bring shame to your Divine!"

All five of them seemed to find this remark extremely funny. When the laughter finally died down, the leader of the group got down from his horse to face Helena on the same eye-level. He leaned threateningly close to the innkeeper, grinning like mad.

"I am getting really tired of this game, milady. Call him out."

Helena was shaking visibly. She looked like she was about to crumble.

"Cut it out!" Marcus shouted, running to stand between the Vigilante and the woman. The man looked at him with a scowl. "Stop harassing the innocent woman!"

"That hag is _not_ innocent, boy. Far from it." Shoving Marcus out of the way the man grabbed the innkeepers hem of the shirt to throttle her. "Give him to us, now!"

There was a dangerous gleam in Helena's eyes that Marcus had never seen before. It made even the Vigilante loose his hold on her, as her lips parted to show her uneven teeth.

"You know what?" the woman grumbled venom dripping from her voice. "I think I just might do that."

The look of confidence faltered momentarily on the man's face. His hand wandered to rest against the hilt of his sword.

"You would?" one of the Vigilantes asked nervously.

"Yes," Helena hissed. "I would finally get rid of you. _All_ of you. You honestly think you can face him and survive? You are out of your league, you criminal bastards."

"What are you doing?" Marcus squeaked. "What is going on?"

No-one was listening to his pitiful questions anymore. The whole tavern had gone silent and everyone was following the exchange between the innkeeper and the servants of the god of mercy.

"Shall we… shall we take this outside?" the leader asked.

"By all means, you first," Helena said humorlessly, still showing her yellow teeth to them.

Marcus wasn't sure what was going on. He was not sure at all. The Vigilantes left the tavern, the old lady following behind and half of the patrons running after them to see what in the name of the Divines was going on. The bard followed them with horror as the warriors set out to stand on a semicircle on the yard. He couldn't tear his eyes off of the usually so calm and joyful Helena, who was sneering like a saber cat protecting its cubs. To say that she was angry was an understatement. Her fists were shaking at her sider, her eyes like bottomless pits in the darkening night.

"Well?" the leader of the group asked with barely hidden glee. "Where is he?"

"You are all a bunch of idiots thinking you can fight him," Helena said grimly as she lifted her left fist. Marcus could see the red gemstone of the ring glowing faintly in the darkness of the winter night. Then they all heard the strange sound of portal between dimensions opening and a distinct smell of sulfur filled the air.

"_I smell weakness…_"

The bard felt his spine grow frigid as the shrill voice of the monster cut through the air. Slowly he turned his head towards the sound to spot a huge bulking man who he could swear had not been there just a minute ago.

The crowd started whispering frightfully as they saw the fearsome Dremora Lord step closer. People were scattering to get away from the monster straight out of Oblivion as he walked to stand next to Helena. He bowed his head by an inch, grinning so everyone could see the sharp teeth in his mouth glistening in the low light.

"These men and women over here have been pestering me for quite some time now," Helena said tonelessly, like she wasn't talking to a monster that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "And they have been _dying _to meet you. They're all yours."

The daedra's lips stretched out to a grin that would have made a dragon shudder in fear. The monstrosity of a creature pulled out greatsword and dashed towards the green-robed fighters slashing through the closest one like she had been made out of butter. Helena nodded grimly and turned her back to the battle, not sparing another glance at the Dremora Lord.

"Come along, Marcus. This is not something you want to witness."

Marcus couldn't move. It felt like his feet had been glued to the ground. With mortified curiosity he watched as the Dremora killed three of the Vigilantes like they were no match at all. He felt a bile rise in his throat as he saw the sword hack them apart. After a while he was forced to close his eyes. Then he tried to block his ears.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder. Lifting his head he saw Helena's steely eyes on him, she was coaxing him to go back to the tavern. The bard forced his feet to move, small steps at a time. In the background he could hear someone scream in agony. He had to get away from it. One step at a time.

Helena shut the door behind her and shoved Marcus to sit down by the counter. After a while the shouts died down and it became silent once again. Neither of them seemed to be on a mood for celebration, thought. The few customers that had stayed to have their nightcaps were looking rather pale themselves. None of the patrons that had gone out to see the fight had come back. People were huddling in their own separate corners, as far away from each other as possible in the closed quarters. Helena was resting her head against her hands looking like she was about to burst in tears.

Marcus moved to sit down next to her, still feeling like vomiting.

"Was that – " he started.

"Not now, Marcus."

"Okay," he mumbled. After a while he tried again: "Did the ring – "

"Damn it!" the woman all but shouted, lifting her head only by an inch. "I said. Not. _Now._"

He sacked down on his chair, rubbing at his temples. He had never seen that much blood in his life. Never. And he never wanted to witness that again.

The door opened and Marcus got quickly on his feet. It was the Dremora Lord. He walked in, eyes following every line of the room, noting every living being in the tavern until they set on the old woman, who had not even lifted her eyes off of the table before her. The creature's sword was clean again, Marcus noted.

"So… How did it go?" the innkeeper asked, eyes turned down.

The creature looked around the nearly empty tavern, as if assessing the possible danger. His fierce glare made the last of the patrons sulk out of the tavern without as much as a squeak.

"_They were taken care of,_" he said with an unnatural voice. "_One got away._"

"The leader?"

"_Yes._"

"Should have known."

"_Do you wish me to go after him?_"

Helena sighed, still refusing to face the daedra in her tavern.

"No. No need, he'll stay out for now, I think. Good job. Thank you. I'll notify the guards in the morning, they can take care of the corpses."

Helena dismissed what was left of staff, sending everyone home so that in the end there were only the three of them left; the innkeeper, the bard and the monster. The Dremora Lord was looking at the bard like he was something he found stuck in the bottom of his boot.

"Leave the poor boy be, Azarel," Helena sighed. "He's a good kid."

The creature sneered at the bard and turned to face the woman.

"_You have aged._"

"And you have not, I see. It has been some time. Was it ten years? Or more."

"_Why have you not summoned me before?_"

"You know why."

"_The stables burned down._"

"That they did."

"_Why did you not summon me earlier?_"

The old woman sighed.

"_Why?_"

"Oh, I don't know," the innkeeper snapped, finally lifting her head up. "Maybe it's because I can't keep watching you not getting older while I'm drying up like an old prune!"

Marcus noted how the Dremora's brows furrowed just a tiny bit.

"I am just a mortal," the woman kept talking, lifting her hands up in the air. "I'll die soon enough, but maybe, just maybe I don't feel like reminding myself of that every damned day! There. I said it again. Great. Thank you for your help, Azarel, but the danger has passed. You can leave now."

The Dremora Lord took a menacing step closer.

"_Helena – _"

Lifting her hand showing the ring the woman said: "Don't make me force you back there."

With a frown the creature disappeared in to a puff of purple smoke. And it was as if there had never been a daedra in the tavern in the first place.

Marcus was staring at the empty spot where he had been standing with an open mouth. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on and he didn't even dare to guess.

"That was Azarel," Helena said waking him up from his thoughts. "We have been… well… I guess I could say we have been friends for a long time now, although I'm not sure if he would call me a friend."

Helena was sitting down, leaning her hands against the bar counter. She looked tired. She looked old… well, older. She started opening her braids to let the gray mane hang freely.

Marcus was biting his lip, not sure if now was a good moment to ask to hear how that… that… thing had just appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He had heard of course, that the strongest of conjurers could summon Dremora Lords from Oblivion, but Helena had made it very clear that she was no mage. She was afraid of magic, that was what she had said. So how was she able to get the creature to appear before them? How had she done it.

"You look like your head is about to explode right off of your shoulders," the barkeep said tiredly. "You want a drink?"

"Sure."

"Good, 'cause I need something strong and getting drunk by myself is just sad." She moved to dig out two small cups and a bottle of some clear liquid. "Now drink this slowly, I've seen how badly you manage your alcohol," she warned as she poured the drink into the cups. Marcus could swear he saw the cups sizzling from the liquid.

The old innkeeper downed on cup like t had been filled with nothing but water. After she had filled another round for herself, she started to talk.

"Have you ever heard of the Sanguine Rose?"

"Um… Yes. Everyone has, right? It was a gift from the Daedric Prince Sanguine to your mother after winning a drinking contest with him, right? I mean, there have been songs about – "

"Yes, that's the one," the woman said downing another drink. "A long stick with a rose on the other end. Could make even an idiot to manage to summon a Dremora Lord. My mother used it as her model as she enchanted this." She took the ring off of her finger and offered it for Marcus to see.

For the first time he got to touch the dragon bone ring that he had heard so much about lately. It was surprisingly light, not as heavy as gold or silver rings. He turned it around in his hands, looking at it from all angles.

"It doesn't feel enchanted," he said after a while.

"I know. That's the beauty of the damn thing. It took me a long time to realize what it actually does. And boy, was I in for a surprise."

The bard looked at her curiously. "What happened?"

Helena poured another drink, smirking mirthlessly.

"Let me tell you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note:** _Bad news for all of you possible readers out there. I'm having some trouble writing at the moment, it feels like my head has been drained out of ideas and writing just doesn't feel as good as it used to. I hope this is only temporary but for the time being I doubt I'll be able to post that many chapters as often as I had hoped I would. I don't want to say that I'll stop writing this fic for good, but I just need to take a break for a while now to look what I have written and maybe to plan where exactly I want to take this story._

_ Sorry about the inconvenience, I know how irritating it is when an author says something like this. But hey, writer's block is a bitch. _

* * *

The first time I met Azarel I was in… I was in Riverwood, I think. Or Helgen, after it was rebuild. I'm not quite sure, it was in one of those smaller villages anyway. It had been months after I had left Solitude and my money situation hadn't really changed that much. I was constantly looking for a place to work, travelling from village to village, doing small jobs. You know, I helped gathering the crops, watched over the animals and children, those sorts of things. But I just couldn't find a permanent place to stay.

Those few months after my departure were… far from grand. The ring had all but latched itself onto my finger and was not moving. I remember trying to pull it out, I kept my hands in the freezing water of Karth river for half an hour to ease the damned thing off, but it did little to help the situation. Cursed ring was cursed. There wasn't anything I could do about it.

But yes, I was travelling by foot from one small village to another, when I was ambushed by bandits. The damn fiends appeared from out of nowhere, or so it felt back then. I can't really call myself very perspective anyway, for all I know they could have been following me for hours! They just jumped out of the bushes, knocked me unconscious and dragged me to one of those god-forsaken caves of theirs. That was where I woke up, all tied up.

Those thugs had taken all of my belongings. All of them! I was stripped down to my barest. Thank Dibella I have never been blessed with luscious curves or much of good looks to speak of. Otherwise they might have done unspeakable things to me, those bastards.

Ugh. My glass is empty. You want another round? No? Okay, more for me, I guess.

Where was I? Oh yes, I remember now, don't worry. I was in the caves. Yes. So, they had taken everything I had save for the ring. That was the only thing they hadn't yet been able to yank off. When I woke up, one of them was trying to pull it off by force and by the Divines did that hurt! Like they were about to rip off the whole finger!

"What's wrong with this stupid ring?" the one pulling at it asked as I came to with a yelp. "Oh. Lokee here. The gal has finally woken up. Morning, milady."

As I've told you before, I was not made out of bravery. Nope. I screamed like a little babe out of her mother's womb.

"Shut the bitch up!" a woman further away groaned.

"But I can't get the damn ring off!"

"Then cut the finger, idiot."

I couldn't believe my ears. I hated pain, I feared it. Haven't met many people in my life that have said that they enjoy pain and I can tell you I'm not one of them anyway. So as the man pulled out a not-so-sharp knife I obviously got a bit worried. Well, worried is an understatement. I tried squirming off of the ropes but that didn't do much good. I did manage to get few inches away from the threatening idiot, but that wasn't much of an achievement.

"Just kill the gal and be done with it," the woman said lazily.

"Fine. Fine. Okay, stay put for a while and I'll make it quick," the bandit said and I think he was trying to sound somewhat apologetic or what not.

Back then I wasn't exactly sure how I did it, but somehow I must have managed to activate the ring with my fear. I was a bit terrified, to put it mildly, so I don't remember much of it myself. Details get forgotten over the years, you understand. But as I was saying, I somehow managed to summon the same Dremora Lord you saw earlier. I don't really want to go into the detail about it, but… well… I summoned him. That's it. One moment I was about to get slaughtered like some common cattle and the next there was a monster standing right before me.

If I had been afraid before, now I was out of my mind. Try to imagine it, my boy, just try to be there, in my shoes. A creature straight out of my worst nightmares appeared just like that and started killing bandits right before my eyes.

Now, you have to understand something. Even though I was the daughter of Dragonborn, seeing somebody get killed wasn't part of my everyday life. Slaughtering a farm animal or skinning a hunt for dinner is nothing compared to see a human being gutted alive. There is no comparison. I had seen my share of violence and blood, but that was… that was…

Fill up my cup, will you? Thank you.

After the onslaught the only two left alive were the Dremora and I. I could see that he was looking around seemingly curious, like he was trying to find more people to kill and I, naturally, tried to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Back then I didn't know it had been I who had summoned him, I was no mage, you remember. To my eyes, he had just randomly appeared to make my life even worse, so I was certain he would kill me if he saw me.

The Dremora started looking around the cave and I was sure he was looking for me. Well, he was, but he didn't know that and… well… it was all a big misunderstanding, really.

I wouldn't have probably been able to hide for long anyway, but somehow I managed to draw his attention by scrambling with my binds. I honestly tried to remain incognito but you know how young people can be so dumb when they are scared. As I fell down on some scrap the bandits had looted, the creature turned to look at me.

"_What?_" I remember was his first word to me. Then he said: "_No. Not _you."

"Please!" I pleaded. "Don't hurt me. I am nobody! Please! "

The Dremora came closer, slowly. He had this odd expression on his face like he didn't believe what he saw.

He sliced open my binds with that ridiculously huge sword of his. On that moment I damn near pissed myself, believe it or not. I was certain it was my end, but no. He grabbed my left hand, glaring at the ring.

"_No_," he said. "_You can't be the ring bearer._"

I don't think I answered anything remotely intelligent to that, merely whimpered if anything. Ugh, don't look at me like that. How would you have reacted? I bet you would have been all brave and composed, Marcus. I saw how you looked at Azarel when he appeared. Don't you go playing all heroic in the safe environment of my tavern, you milk drinker.

Oh dear. My apologies. It's the alcohol in me. I'm sorry. I'll continue, never mind that.

Well, our first meeting wasn't the best it could have been. Soon after he had freed me the Dremora Lord disappeared, not even telling his name or where he had came from, not that I really was in the state of mind to process anything anyway. I had an idea though, I'm not an idiot. He had been talking about the ring, so I knew it was all about that wretched piece of cursed accessory.

That wasn't the only unfriendly meeting we had. After that I… got in trouble a couple of times over the few years I spent travelling around. Sometimes it was the wildlife, or then it was bandits again. One time I swear I was attacked by vampires! I was beginning to learn just how to summon him when I needed it but I usually just chose to try and run away from the danger rather than making him fight for me. I didn't really want to spend my time around him, if you know what I mean. And he hated me. So I would just rather run than have him save me against his will.

I guess that was how I ended up stuck in a tree, a small pack of wolves trying to get me down to have a little snack.

I had been travelling to Morthal. I had heard rumors that a local innkeeper had died and the new owner was looking to hire outsiders. Apparently the locals were not to her liking. So I had naturally started heading into that direction until I got chased by wolves. I don't know what I was thinking. Trying to outrun a pack of wild animals and practically trapping myself climbing up to a tree. I was acting by pure instinct.

I guess I was up there for like half an hour until I gave up and summoned the Dremora. And he didn't look too happy to see me I'll tell you.

"_You weak mortal can't even kill three wolves?_" he asked poisonously.

"N- no."

"_Then maybe you _do_ deserve to die._"

He killed the beasts anyway. It didn't even take that long. I guess he has to do everything the ring bearer tells him to, he never really felt comfortable sharing that information with me so I never asked. Meanwhile I realized I was indeed stuck. I had gotten up there by the means of pure adrenalin. After calming myself I had no courage left in my body. And when he noted I was not coming down… well, he didn't take it too kindly.

"_Come down from there._"

"I'd rather not," I said.

The Dremora Lord glared at me angered. He looked like he would have gladly cut my head off if I had not been wearing the ring.

"_I was told I would be serving the great Dragonborn. Not some meek little girl that wouldn't be good enough to clean my boots._"

It wasn't nice to hear those words, I'll give you that, but I didn't get mad either. To tell you the truth, I had rather grown used to be called weak. I just don't take it as an insult anymore and neither did I back then. So his words didn't really affect me that much. Up from my tree I just glared right back at him, feeling safe thanks to the distance between us.

"I didn't exactly want to end up with this ring either and now that I know what it's used for, I feel even more declined to wear it," I told him.

"_Then take it off._"

"Can't. Mother must have put some curse on it. It won't budge. "

The Dremora Lord scoffed. "_If you really wanted to get rid of the ring, you would cut off your finger. But no, you mortals are too weak to do what it takes._"

"No we aren't!" I argued. "I am. Just  
because I'm like this doesn't mean the rest of us are as… as… _meek._"

The Dremora just glared at me angrily. I felt cocky, I admit. I was stuck in a tree and yet I felt like I was somehow superior to him. Don't ask me why I would fool myself into thinking something like that, but there I was, looking down on him like I was something grand.

He just sneered at me, showing his teeth. Did you see his teeth? I once saw him rip a man's throat open with those. It was brutal. Those are some nasty teeth.

Why aren't you drinking? Your cup is nearly full. Have you even tasted it? Fine, fine. Do what you want.

Ah! Getting sidetracked again! Yes. I was up in the tree, waiting for him to disappear, go back to Oblivion or something like that, but he wouldn't move. He just stood there shooting murderous looks my way and I was just getting more and more irritated by him.

"You know, if you hate me that much, just say it. I won't summon you again, I'll just get eaten or mugged or mauled."

That earned me a snarl, if I remember correctly. Yes, it must have been a snarl, I remember clearly how the corner of his lip curled up as he was grumbling like a monster that he was. Over the years he has snarled, grumbled, growled and shouted at me so much that these things tend to get mixed up.

"What did I do now?" I demanded to know. "I just don't get you! I'm trying to be nice here!"

"_Just get down from the tree. The sooner you get out of this forest, the better._"

I huffed at him. "Oh, like _you _care."

"_I_," he said like he was cursing his whole existence – or maybe just mine, "_am honor-bound to protect the ring bearer. Letting you get killed by simple beasts would bring me great shame._"

I think I replied with something sounding like: "Oh," or something as intelligent as that.

"_You mortals don't understand the meaning of honor,_" he said bitterly._ "You are too selfish._"

"Again, you are thinking about me. I know plenty of people that are brave and honorable. You just got bad luck and ended up with me."

He looked at me then and for the first time I saw him look at me with something else than pure hatred. I'm still not quite sure what it was, but let's just call it curiosity. That would make sense, now wouldn't it?

"_Why do you have the ring? I was told it was forged by the Dragonborn._"

Up from my tree I watched the Dremora with a curiosity of my own. I untangled my fingers from the branches to lean down a bit. Not too much to fall down, but to see his face better. The moment I did this, his face turned back to show the dirty look he usually gave to me, with scowl and all.

"It was," I told him. "And she gave it to me. She probably knew I would not be able to take care of myself out there, so she wanted to give me a guardian. In other words, a babysitter."

The Dremora groaned. "_Wonderful. So I am going to be stuck with you until the day you die!_"

I was surprised. "Can't I just get rid of the ring and like… give it to the next stranger that came on my way? Wouldn't that basically make you his? Did you belong to Ahkari when I sold the ring?"

Hah! I can still remember the look in his eyes when I told I had sold the ring. At first he looked like he didn't really understand what I had just said and was trying to process it all in his horned head. Then I was sure that his eyes were about to bulge right out of his sockets as he got really angry. It was hilarious! Well, not back then it wasn't. Seeing him get angry was like… hmm… How could I describe the feeling? Well, I guess you understand what I mean. An angry creature from Oblivion is sure to make you wet your pants, I guarantee. Thank the Divines I was out of his reach.

"_You _sold_ the ring?"_ he growled at me.

"Um… Yes. But I got it back, so… no hurt feelings?"

I don't think he was really listening to me anymore at that point. That was the moment I learned how important the ring was to him. In a perfect land we could have discussed about it and reach an agreement verbally, but… that's not how it went.

I'm not sure exactly what he was trying to achieve, but in his anger he rammed against the tree I was leaning against, making the whole damn trunk shake under his violent actions. I tried to hold on, I really did, but I guess you can already guess where this is heading. I slipped. I fell. And I did not fall gracefully like an oak leaf in the fall, I dropped like a damn rock and hit the ground hard.

I think I blacked out a bit, not for long, but it took me a while to regain some composure and when I finally got my head to stop spinning, I just cried out.

That really got Azarel to lose his cool. You see, he is not supposed to harm the ring bearer in anyway. It's part of that weird honorary code that binds him, I don't really know how these things go. But I guess he thought he just killed me or something.

Slowly I sat up to see the damage. Lucky for me I am not made out of glass. That would be just inconvenient, wouldn't it? I had survived the fall with almost no injuries. Or so I thought. Then, of course, I tried to sit up.

When I screamed in pain, I'm damn sure Azarel nearly pissed himself, the poor thing. I had only sprained my ankle, it was nothing serious, but I screamed like I was dying.

"Why did you do that?" I asked him angrily. "Look what you did!"

For a moment I swear he looked mortified but I would be a naïve idiot if I thought he was sorry for me. No, it was his honor that was at stake.

"_Why are you mortals so weak?_"

I don't remember if I really answered that or if I just cursed at him.

"Why don't you just go back where you came from?" I think I shouted at him. I just wanted to get to Morthal already. If I hadn't been chased by wolves, I would have probably reached the town by that time and the thought of that combined with my situation altogether just made me really angry. I wanted to get out of the woods, away from the monster and back to civilization. And if I had to limp all the way to Morthal, that was what I was ready to do.

"Well, this was fun," I said to him. "Let's not do it again." And with that I started hopping on my good foot towards the road. I must have looked ridiculous, jumping around and trying not to lean on the other foot. That didn't work as well as I planned it though. Have you ever tried to hop around on one foot for a long period of time? Not as easy as it sounds.

And the most annoying part was that the Dremora was just following me, looking as angered as ever.

"You know, you can just leave now," I said to him.

That only earned me an angry look.

We kept going on like that for a while, me limping until we got back on the road, he following me like a big ugly shadow. I just hoped we would run into some other travelers who would be willing to help me. Although now that I think about it, I don't think anyone would have wanted to help a woman shadowed by a Dremora Lord.

"_You look ridiculous, mortal._"

"I have a name too," I think I muttered. That is a thing I think I would have said in a situation like that, but since I was going through some hardships and anger issues I might have said it a bit more colorfully. With some coarser words, if you know what I mean.

"_You could be a nameless human for all I know. And you don't know my name either._"

Back then I guessed he was trying to make up to his error from before trying to sound so civil. And I was all in for that. All the hatred between us was quite tiring. We had our little un-formal introduction then and there, that was when I learned his name was Azarel. I think he had a moniker as well but he never mentioned it again so it has slipped out of my mind by now. It was something about blood… Or was it about some battle? Hmh. I better ask about it the next time he comes around. If that happens, that is. If I had to choose, I would just let him stay in the Oblivion, Azarel isn't exactly good for the business.

I guess after a while he took pity on me and picked me up to carry me. Or maybe it was still about that ring bearer crap, I don't know. All I really want to say about that is that it was the most uncomfortable ride I have ever been forced to go through. You know what daedric armor is like, you saw that right? And I was sure to let him know how the hard edges felt like against my stomach as I was hanging from his other shoulder. Every step was like a stab to my stomach even with my thick fur coat and all. I would never recommend that to you, but he refused to carry me piggyback style, so…

Oh, Azarel would kill you if he heard me telling you this. He can't kill me of course. The ring and all, but I doubt he would think twice before slicing you up. Oh, sorry. Don't worry, if you won't tell him, I won't either. It'll be our secret.

But the most important part was that we got to Morthal in one piece. People were looking funny at a big bad Dremora Lord walking through the town with a pitiful looking human on its shoulder. I swear the guards would have attacked if they hadn't been so afraid of the sight. I asked for one of them passing by where the local tavern was and we were guided to the Moorside Inn. Azarel was… shall we say _kind_ enough to carry me to the inn but after we got in he just tossed me on the floor.

The inn was mostly empty, it wasn't that time of the day when people just crowd places like those. There were only the woman behind the counter, me and my sulking companion and a handful of Vigilantes of Stendarr.

Yep. That was when we first met those jolly fellows.


	9. Chapter 9

Marcus was still sipping his first cup of drink while Helena on the other hand was going on her… well… the bard had lost count after the first five.

"So then what happened? Was there a fight?"

"No," the old woman slurred. "Azarel was a _real_ gentleman and disappeared leaving me in their clutches those sons of a bitches. I swear I saw him grinning at me as he went. That stupid idiot."

"What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do nothin' to me. Just talked a lot of shit and left me be. Some warnings they gave but they were all nice like they wanted to help me or somethin'. One of 'em even bandaged my foot, that sweetheart. Then they left the tavern, I got a place to work and we lived happily forever after! Cheers!"

Helena's head fell down on the counter and after a while Marcus heard her snoring.

"Um… Helena?"

No answer. She was out cold.

She had never taken the ring back. It was still resting on the table, as innocent as ever. Marcus reached to pick it up. He didn't feel the hum of magic that usually surrounded enchanted objects like that. It was truly a piece of art, the ring. And to know it was crafted by Dragonborn herself… The price of the ring must have skyrocketed after the Nord hero's death. Marcus nearly tried it on, but then thought better of it. The ring wasn't his to have. He set it back down on the table.

The innkeeper was sleeping peacefully leaning down on the counter, but Marcus just couldn't leave the old woman there. She would be so sore in the morning and that just wouldn't do. So, bracing himself, he tried to lift the frail woman by her armpits. He couldn't even get her to budge.

"Oh great," he muttered.

Sitting back down next to her, he tried to come up with a solution. Helena would not be waking up any time soon unless he would go and get a bucket filled with water. That had worked on his College mates, it might work with her as well. But he did not want to throw a bucket full of icy water on an old woman. It just felt too cruel. She was a respectful lady, not some adolescent youth!

So he just sat there. After a while he started humming to himself, another odd little song forming in his head.

"_Helena the owner Dragon's Tooth inn had a problem in a form of a bloody cursed ring. Forged by her mother, to keep her from trouble she could not remove it, to make it budge, no."_

He laughed silently. "No, that's just stupid," he said to himself. "That would never make a good song. No-one would listen to that!"

It was getting late and he really didn't have the energy to spend the rest of the night downstairs, so he once again tried to haul Helena off of her chair and back to her own room. This time he managed to get her moving, but not as much as he would have like to. He got the innkeeper off of her chair and down on the floor and it should have been easy to get her to her room from there. It wasn't. Marcus nearly toppled over the woman.

"Oh dear," he mumbled as he set the woman back down. He was no Nord hero. He was not a strong man.

The young bard's eyes travelled back to the ring sitting on the counter. He could just summon the Dremora Lord, right? He could have him carry Helena to her room, it shouldn't be that hard. Actually now that he thought about it, it was the easiest solution. And Helena had implied that even a total idiot could manage to summon Azarel with the help of the ring.

Should he? It didn't feel like that dumb of an idea and the bard had to admit that he felt intrigued by the ring. Yes. He would just use it to get Helena to her room, that's all.

He grabbed the ring, putting it on his finger. It was a bit too tight for comfort and dragon bone felt unfamiliar against his skin but it wasn't unbearable. He held out his hand admiring the ruby. It really was a fine example of craftsmanship.

That was when the ring started burning. He felt the material heat up against his finger and the bone clutched tighter and tighter around him nearly blocking the blood flow. Marcus yelped his surprise as he felt the ring cut his skin and droplets of blood rolled from under the burning surface of the dragon bone.

Oh crap. The bard tried to remove the ring. He tried to pull it off with all of his strength – which wasn't all that much – but it wouldn't budge.

"Oh no, no, no, no, _no!_" he wailed. "Get off, get off, _get off!_"

Screaming at the ring did little to help him. What kind of a stupid idiot was he? After hearing how the ring had attached to Helena's hand for years he had just decided to try it out? Had he been out of his mind? What would Helena say? Oh, she would be so disappointed.

Wait. Helena had been cursed to hold the ring, hadn't she? And she was able to take it off and put it back on as she pleased. She must have known the trick to it. Marcus sighed his relief, slouching against the counter. For a moment he had been afraid of being forced to steal the ring. He didn't want a frightening monster as his aide. He wanted anything but!

Helena was snoring loudly on the floor now, dead to the world. A dusty and muddy floor of a tavern was not a place for a fine lady, whether Helena regarded herself as such or not. On Marcus's opinion respectful ladies like Helena should not be drinking that much – especially at her age. She would have the worst hangover in the morning. Ugh, he should just get her to bed. If only he knew how to summon the damn thing!

But how to summon a daedra?

Marcus himself was not into magic. There had been mages in his family. In fact, his cousin's son had applied to the College of Winterhold not too long ago. But the bard himself had not practiced any school of magic in his life.

But how hard could it be? Helena had done it, hadn't she? And she was no mage herself either. Marcus sat down and tried to remember what the old lady had said.

The innkeeper had said that Azarel had appeared for the first time when she had been scared. So, what did that mean? He needed to get scared? Getting scared by purpose wasn't easy, he wasn't even sure if that was possible. Could he just mentally call upon the monster?

Marcus fingered the ring uncertainly. It was like it had been glued to his hand. No, that wasn't right. It was like the bone of the ring had become one with his. Like the ring was just an odd appendage on his finger, a lump of his own bone. His skin had turned red around the ring and he felt an annoying sting emanating from under the band of the ring. It reminded him of a rash from a sting of a poison ivy. A rash he couldn't itch.

Come on, he thought. Just summon the damn thing.

Suddenly the sting of the ring grew out to pure pain. Marcus yelped in fright as the ring started glowing and he felt it burn his skin like an iron out of the forge. The bard gasped aloud as he heard a portal open behind him and stumbled away as the Dremora stepped through the purple smoke. The whole tavern was filled with a bitter smell of sulfur.

Marcus had no idea how he had done it, but he didn't really want to know that anyway. The Dremora Lord had already pulled his sword out and the look on his face told the creature was ready to kill. The Dremora froze, however, when he saw Helena lying on the ground, unconscious. The young bard could see the creature's eyes grow wide as they started looking around the tavern with clear fury. The pitch black eyes fell on to Marcus and the corner of the Dremora's lip lifted to reveal the teeth Helena had been talking about.

The Dremora didn't waste time attacking Marcus. And it would have probably killed the poor bard had Marcus not lifted his hand, screaming: "I'm the ring bearer! I'm the ring bearer!"

For a moment he was certain the monster would kill him all the same, the look of pure murder and the hatred emanating from him was so strong but then the Dremora retreated. The monster put away his sword albeit reluctantly.

"_I will kill you for this,_" he growled under his breath. "_One day. I will avenge my former ring bearer, you just wait._"

"What?" Marcus asked. The Dremora Lord was trembling ever so slightly like he was ready to strike at any moment. "Avenge? But… I don't… I don't understand…"

"_Your death will be slow. Painful. You will be begging for it in the end. But I won't be that merciful!"_

That was when Marcus finally realized what was wrong. The bard's eyes jumped from Helena's unmoving body to the ready-to-explode Dremora and he realized what the scene must have looked like.

"Oh! No, no. I didn't do this to her! And besides, look!" he said kneeling down next to Helena and lifting her a bit. "She's not dead. She just… she just had a bit too much to drink!"

Much to his relief Marcus saw the Dremora relax just a bit. The creature's rigid shoulders came down a bit and his fists opened slowly from the grip they had been holding the sword.

"_So you chose to steal the ring after getting her drunk?_" the Dremora grumbled.

"I did no such thing!" Marcus huffed. "She was the one who kept pouring more of that foul thing on her cup. And before I knew she like… like that." He decided wisely to leave out the part where he had dragged her off of her stool and onto the ground.

"_You are trying my patience, mortal._"

"What did _I_ do?"

"_Why do you have the ring?!_" the Dremora shouted making the building shake on its foundations.

"I didn't want to steal it! I just borrowed it!" the bard tried to explain. "I needed somebody to carry her to her room, I swear I didn't mean… this… to happen."

The Dremora's shoulders slumped down and he sighed. "_So you will give the ring back to Helena once she awakens?_"

"Yes!" Marcus exclaimed with relief apparent from his voice. "I'll ask her how to remove the ring as soon as possible!" He looked at the ring on his finger and sighed. "I didn't even want it in the first place."

The Dremora scoffed silently. "_Lady Helena used to say the same thing._"

"I can believe that. Will you… Could you please take her to her room? She… She can't just sleep there whole night long. She'll butcher me in the morning!"

He saw a satisfactory grin appear on the Dremora's lips. "_Then maybe we should just leave her there then._"

"She'll be mad at you too," Marcus added lamely.

For a moment the monstrosity of a creature just stood there like he was pondering whether he should do as he was told or not. For a while Marcus thought that he was going to refuse. After a while the Dremora nodded, however, and kneeled down besides the old woman. With the utmost care the Dremora maneuvered his hands around her. He was moving softly as if he was careful not to scrape Helena's skin against his armor. Without a second thought Azarel carried the innkeeper to her room on the second floor as if he knew the whole tavern like the back of his hand. The Dremora set Helena down on her berth and closed the door after leaving.

"Good," Marcus said awkwardly as the creature stared down at him with disdain. "Good job. Thank you. You can go now."

The corner of the creature's mouth rose a bit to show a humorous smile.

"_I am not leaving until I see the ring change hands. You will _not_ be my new master. You are unworthy._"

Marcus swallowed loudly. He did not feel like going asleep with a murderous monstrosity towering over him. Like the night hadn't been long enough already. The bard doubted he would be able to fall asleep with the Dremora wondering around the tavern.

"Fine. Fine," he muttered. "If that is what you want, I'm not going to argue. My name is Marcus, but the way."

The Dremora said nothing, just looked down on him with a sneer.

"Your name is Azarel, is it not? Helena told so."

Still nothing.

"Well, pleased to meet you too," Marcus muttered. He returned tiredly to the first floor and sat down beside the fireplace. He heard the creature move around on the second floor and after a while the tavern became silent again.

Marcus felt his eyes grow tired with the rest of the body. He did not want to fall asleep with the Dremora around, he really didn't. The bard pinched his arm but it didn't really help him to stay awake.

Maybe he ought to sing something to keep him from falling asleep. That usually did the trick. Back at the College in Solitude they had used to arrange all-night singing challenges. It had been fun, everyone had been singing and laughing – even the teachers. The bard started humming silently, keeping his gaze on the flickering flames.

He sang the song that all bards in Skyrim knew by heart. It was _The Dragonborn Comes_, a song about the legend. It was the first song young bards learnt upon arriving at the Bard's College and even to date the most requested song in the taverns around the lands. The _Tale of Tongues_ was popular as well of course, but people still loved to hear the ballad of the prophecy.

Before Marcus noticed, he had started singing the silly little piece of a song that had come to his mind earlier. The song about Helena and the ring.

_"__Helena the owner of Dragon's Tooth inn had a problem in a form of a bloody cursed ring,_" he hummed silently. "_Forged by her mother to keep her from trouble, she could not remove it, to make it budge, no._"

He heard the floor creak behind him and nearly screamed aloud. It was the Dremora. Marcus felt his heart thunder in his chest, he had not heard the creature come down from the second floor, but there he was. As menacing as before. The Dremora's black eyes were shining on an animalistic way in the flickering light of the fireplace. Marcus considered briefly running away.

The Dremora took a slow step closer. Then another. And then the creature sat down next to the bard, releasing a long sigh.

"_Yes_," he said slowly. "_My name is Azarel. Azarel the Vicious is what I was called a long time ago. But Azarel will do._"

Marcus could do nothing but stare at the Dremora.

"_As the current ring bearer I am not allowed to harm you in any way,_" he said monotonously. "_I am also at your command. My lord._" the last part sounded like it was forced out of the Dremora's throat.

"Alright," Marcus said silently. "Good to know. Well, I already knew, Helena told me. But I guess it was good to hear t from you. So… thank you, I guess."

"_Helena told you?_"

"Yes," Marcus said with an affectionate smile appearing on his lips. "She is sharing her life's story with me at the moment. It's not a story of a hero, but it's appealing on its own way."

The Dremora was silent.

"Hey, um… Azarel?" Marcus asked not facing him.

"_What?_" the Dremora said irritably.

"What is your relationship with lady Helena?"

Out from the corner of his eye Marcus could see the Dremora flinch. The bard turned to see the stony expression on Azarel's face. The Dremora had gone rigid.

"_She is the ring bearer,_" he said stiffly.

"Was the ring bearer, right?" Marcus asked trying to lighten the mood.

His answer was a warning growl that made the bard pull away just a bit. The Dremora could not harm him as long as the ring was in his hand but Marcus had a feeling that as soon as the thing would be removed he should find a place to hide for the rest of his life. That look in Azarel's eyes told him that the Dremora would follow him to the end of the world just to slice open his throat.

"Could you tell me how you ended up with Helena? I bet it is an interesting tale," Marcus said trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"_Are you sure you want to hear that?_" Azarel asked silently. Marcus saw a glimpse of the Dremora's face from the corner of his eye. The hatred had lessened and he just looked tired. The Dremora was rubbing his eyes as if that would help to remove the day from his memory. "_It is a rather late hour for storytelling._"

"I don't mind. And you don't have to tell the whole story. Just bits and pieces, you decide what you want to leave out."

He saw the corner of Azarel's lip rise a bit to a close resemblance of a smile but the moment he turned to look at the Dremora it had disappeared and been replaced with a scowl.

"_That is mighty kind of you, my lord._"

"Don't call me that," Marcus muttered.

"_Fine. You wanted to hear the story. I'll tell you. I'll tell you._"


	10. Chapter 10

I was not bound to the ring by choice. I never wanted to be a servant to a creature as lowly as a human, but as I said, it wasn't my choice. I did something I shouldn't have. This was my punishment. As the Dragonborn enchanted the ring, I was thrown to the wolves, so to speak and became a slave to the ring and its bearer. I accepted my fate solemnly, I was living under the illusion that I would be serving the mighty Dragonborn on her quest to stop the World Eater. I thought I would be able to fight side by side with her, slaying dragons and bringing honor to my name. I was certain glorious battles would await me, that I could drench my blade in the blood of my foes and break the bones of those who stood on my way. I could not have been more wrong.

I waited a long time to hear the call of a summoning. I was bound in the Oblivion, unable to do much else than wait to be called. The moment I felt the portal open I sensed something wasn't right.

I had been summoned to a filthy old cave. It was not a glorious battlefield I had had in mind, not at all. It was a dingy place, wet and musty. The walls were covered with fungi and moss and the only foes I could see were a handful of malnourished bandits with flimsy fur armor on them. That was not a place where a Dragonborn would have needed to summon someone like me. But I did as my instincts told me to and killed all of the unworthy opponents. They were weak both in body and soul. I got no satisfaction from offing those creatures, they were only a minor distraction.

That was when I met Lady Helena, of course.

She was…

…

…

…

She was not what I had been expecting. She was not the Dragonborn. She was not a warrior. She was not even a fighter. Getting ambushed and nearly killed by a band of no-good bandits. She was a weakling to say the least. A waste of space. An useless wench. I was angered to see the precious ring on someone like her. I was ashamed to be a servant to a… to a… a weak-willed woman! To serve someone who couldn't probably even hold a sword in her hands… I was furious! Disappointed! And most of all, I was afraid of losing my face seen around with someone like her.

After that we met on a few occasions, none of which helped to build any better picture of her. She travelled a lot and was forced to do so on foot. Lady Helena told me later that she couldn't afford buying a horse or paying for a wagon so she walked. And to a frail creature such as her the world is full of dangers.

What? What are you staring me for?

Hmph. She was always getting in trouble. I remember this one time when she had managed to stumble upon a frostbite spider. It was one of those smaller ones, only a knee-high and she was screaming like a wee baby. I kicked the spider once and it was dead and she still wouldn't shut up. She was insufferable little brat if I had never seen one. Every time it took longer for her to summon me I would get worried that she had been killed while I was gone. That mortal could have ended up slaughtered by an infant! That is how useless she was! She had no idea how to defend herself.

In Oblivion I was a laughingstock. I had lost every piece of dignity I'd once held in the eyes of the others. To be a slave to a weak little mortal such as her was the final nail on my coffin. I felt like I had been cursed. The punishment for my crimes was higher than I would have ever believed. I was publicly shamed and there was no escape. So every time I met Lady Helena and she had managed to get herself hurt by the weakest of creatures in Skyrim I grew more and more angered. It was maddening! All I could do was to try to hold on to what was left of my dignity and honor.

It wasn't an easy task. Most of the time she would only summon me when she had managed to get herself cornered. I always had to be second guessing whether she would be alive or not when I'd finally reach her but somehow I always managed to arrive in time. Being her babysitter was a fulltime job.

I hated her. Every fiber of her made me mad, I wanted to rip her to pieces. But I wouldn't. I couldn't. The only time I… lost my resolve… was when she was on her way to the mortal city by the name of Morthal.

It was an accident. I lost my patience for one second and…

It doesn't matter. Forget that I said anything.

…

…

…

…

Lady Helena travelled to Morthal in search of employment. I could see that she was getting tired of going from one town to another only to be forced to leave when there was no work to be done. We had heard a rumor about the owner of a local tavern passing away and the new owner was sick and tired of the closed circles of the city and wanted to bring in some new blood. When Helena had heard about the rumor she had been excited. And I was glad as well. I thought that in a town like Morthal she would be safer than wandering in the wilds. The guards would keep her safe so I didn't have to.

I was away for half a year, I think. For half a year she did not summon me. I was certain that she was safe, Morthal might be a backwoods town in the middle of a swamp but it was ten times safer than the vast world around it. But there was this nagging feeling in my gut that she was getting in trouble. Lady Helena, she had a way of picking up fights even when she wasn't trying to. I… I guess I just wanted to make sure she was okay. There's nothing odd about that.

So, for half a year I waited. My life was empty, I had nothing. I waited. Time seemed to stretch around me. I worried she had been killed in my absence. What a shame that would bring onto me! I would be cursed to follow the next ring bearer and the next and the next… I would never be free. Half a year felt like an eternity.

But then I felt it. A tug. A call. She was summoning me! It felt like a weigh had been lifted from my shoulders. Finally I knew she was alive. Finally I could be of some use. To do something to help. To do something else than wait.

The first word in six months she gave me was: "Oops," and then: "Shit."

I had been summoned to a place I had not been before. It looked like a house of some sort. A sleeping chamber for a mortal. And by the lack of clothing on Lady Helena I could only assume it was hers.

I was… confused. And by the looks of it, she was mortified. Before I could say anything, she started ushering me out of the room.

"Oh no, oh no, oh _no_," I remember her mumbling. "You need to get out of here. Get back to your purple cloud of smoke, will you?"

Assessing the situation it wasn't hard to realize that she was in no danger and I had been summoned for nothing. I was angry to say the least and demanded to know why I had been brought to the mortal plane.

"It was an _accident_," Lady Helena hissed stopping her vain attempts of getting me out. "Please get out. Now!"

I was declined to leave. The embarrassed look on her face was too… amusing… to leave behind.

"I'm having _company_," she hissed like a cat. "And I'm not allowed to have pets here!"

Hah! She dared to call me a pet! If I had been angered before, now I was furious. A meek little mortal had the guts to call me her pet. I wanted to throttle her for that but before I could even take a step closer there was a silent knock on the door.

"Oh for the love of Mara," she whispered covering her eyes. "Why? Why, why, why? It's been months and now that I'm _finally_ having a chance to have some _fun_ with someone you have to show up?"

She had invited some male to her dorm. Some weak little mortal to keep her bed warm. She had been prepared to give her body to some idiot of a farm boy just for the simple pleasure of it. The boy looked like a crook. I admit, he wasn't a complete waste of space, he did look like he would be able to keep my Helena safe if the need would be, but…

I meant to say Lady Helena.

Don't look at me like that.

It didn't take much to drive that pest off. A menacing look, a low growl. He ran off like a coward he was. I take my task of keeping Lady Helena very seriously and that includes keeping her from idiots like him.

That was what I said to her, anyway. But she didn't seem too happy about it. Not at all. She complained about how I had driven off her first companion in months. I was not sorry, however.

I was certain that after that she would not summon me again for a while. But she was getting flimsy. Or then the ring was acting up, I don't know and it doesn't even matter that much. She summoned me accidentally many times over. And I was irritated every time. The owner of her tavern was a tart. A useless wench she was. She had the audacity to yell at Lady Helena for summoning me from time to time. I would have gladly sliced her in half but Lady Helena asked me not to, so…

It was during that time when I think I finally started seeing her… I… I don't know how to say this. I guess I… I realized that she wasn't… she wasn't all that bad. Or weak. Well, she was weak, her body was so small, like she would break if someone was to hold her too tightly. But she had a strong will. From time to time. I… I had judged her without really knowing her and…

…

Let's change a subject.

Everything was going well for us. I was learning to accept my situation and Lady Helena was doing well working in the tavern. We were… getting closer.

But that didn't last. Those kinds of things never do. You see, those Vigilantes had a problem with me. They didn't want a person like me hanging around. I said to Helena that she should just let me off them all. Take care of them, end the problem once and for all. But she wouldn't let me. She said my idea was stupid, that silly mortal. She thought we would be better off if I would just stay in the Oblivion for good. It was around that time when she went to talk with that mage. The mage knew how to get rid of the ring, he told Lady Helena that he could do it if she would do something for him. We did what he asked and he removed the ring. For a while I was afraid she was going to sell it for some merchant as a willing bodyguard. Of course, I was wrong to ever doubt her, but I was afraid. I didn't want to lose her.

…

I've spoken enough for one night. Maybe you are right. I should return to Oblivion. You are obviously not going to hurt Lady Helena with your questionable strength.

You've better return the ring to Lady Helena the moment she wakes up, mortal. Else I'll make your life a living hell.


	11. Chapter 11

When Marcus finally woke up, the sun had risen hours ago. He rose with a yawn to sit on the edge of his berth and gave the cursed ring a long look of displeasure. He still couldn't believe how stupid he had been. A real idiot. Helena would be pissed, he just knew it.

Outside of his door the bard could hear someone walking down the hall. His ears were ringing – and he had barely had anything to drink last night. He felt groggy and was damn sure he was sporting bags under his eyes. He just wanted to crawl back under the covers and forget anything had ever happened. Or then he could sneak out of the tavern before Helena would notice something important had gone missing. That would save Marcus from having to explain how exactly the valuable ring given by Helena's dead mother had latched itself to his finger.

No, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Marcus might have been a coward but he knew when to face his problems. The bard braced himself to a good old fashioned beat down. And the old innkeeper did look like she could pack a mean punch.

As he walked downstairs, Marcus was surprised to see how empty the tavern was. Well, maybe he should have been expecting it. The events of the last night had probably scared most of the people off for good. Only a handful of regulars had wandered to the tavern that day and those who had were all looking nervous, flinching at the smallest of sounds. Shrugging it off the bard sat down by the counter.

"Good morning, Marcus," the woman behind the counter greeted. She was one of the many barmaids of Dragon's Tooth, Marcus had seen her around. "You sure slept late today."

"Where's Lady Helena?" he asked yawning loudly. Last night had probably been the longest in his life.

"Still in bed," the barmaid said with a knowing smile. "She usually sleeps late after drinking that special drink of hers. Dragon's tears, she calls it. Sturdy stuff. I had some of it once, knocked me unconscious for hours! But don't worry, she'll be here sooner or later."

Just as he had predicted. Lady Helena was probably nursing her hangover in the darkness of her own room. No lady should drink that much in one night. He just shook his head taciturnly.

"Give me something to eat, will you?" the bard asked.

"Sure thing, honey."

Last night had been… something else. First the attack of the Vigilantes, then the Dremora, Lady Helena's story, the ring, the Dremora again, his story and only after that had Marcus gottenback to his room. He had tried to ask more about the removing of the ring, that damned Azarel had mentioned a mage or something, but the brute of a creature had just disappeared. The bard had considered summoning him back but opted on going to sleep instead.

The ring finger was throbbing with ache. Marcus gritted his teeth. He would have to question Helena the moment she would come down.

As he was munching down his horker stew the doors from the second floor burst open and the grey haired innkeeper waltzed in with a loud curse that would have made a sailor blush. The old woman's eyes were squinted with pain.

"Helena?" Marcus asked worriedly getting up. "Are you okay?"

The older woman stopped to give him an irritated look. "Well, what does it look like, boy? How come you let me drink that much last night, huh? How much did I have, exactly?

"Uh…"

"That much, huh. Wonderful. Just _wonderful!_ That teaches me to mess with alcohol. Age doesn't come alone, you know." The innkeeper nodded to the woman behind the counter. "Bring me something to ease this… this… bloody headache, will you love?"

As the barmaid scurried off the older woman sat down next to Marcus, kneading her temples with her wrinkled fingers.

"Um… Helena, I think I might have done something I shouldn't have…" Marcus started, backing away nervously. The innkeeper looked like a bear woken up from hibernation.

"Not now, boy. Just… just give me time to get my bearings."

"But I really think you should know about this," he insisted, lifting his hand to show the ring.

The dragon bone had dug deep into his flesh, making the skin around the smooth material red and prickly. His finger was feeling somewhat numb as the tight hold did its best to block his blood flow. It felt like the underside of the ring had been made out of tiny needless that were boring into his flesh as he spoke and it wasn't the most comfortable feeling in the world. The innkeeper's gaze focused slowly to the ring that was sending pulses of pain through his digit.

"Well, well," she said slowly. "Would you look at that."

The barmaid arrived with the food and a potion to Lady Helena but went unnoticed as the look of hangover slowly faded away from Lady Helena's face giving room for a grim stare. That look did not promise anything good. Marcus thought about running while the woman was still silent.

"I… It was an accident!" Marcus struggled to speak under the pressure of her eyes. "I was trying to… I didn't mean to… It was an accident, I swear!"

Helena wasn't moving. Her eyes were glued to the ring on his finger as many different emotions crossed through her face. At first she looked mad, then amused, angered again and followed by a contemplating look of calmness.

"Does Azarel know?" she asked with a well-kept voice.

"…Yes…" he muttered.

"What did he say?"

"He wasn't… happy. But… but, he said that there is a way to remove it. The ring, I mean. And you got rid of it as well, didn't you? He mentioned some mage? A mage can remove it!"

Helena was silent for a long while. Marcus' eyes wondered to the front door and back to the innkeeper. If he would run now, he might have a fighting chance.

The woman closed her eyes with a sigh and grabbed the potion from the table.

"Are you sure you want it gone?" she asked opening the bottle. "I mean, it is a bodyguard who will do pretty much anything that you ask? Not many would be so ready to have it removed."

Marcus bit his lip nervously. "No, no, I couldn't. It's not mine, it was never meant to be mine. I just… I just want it gone, it's yours anyway. And the Dremora obviously doesn't like me."

Much to his surprise Helena started laughing at that.

"And which part of my story has ever given you an impression that he likes _me?_ We are both just ring bearers to him, he is honor bound to do as told, but not to like anyone. I swear, he would have killed me many times over had it not been for the ring. Oh, the good old days."

That was odd. He could have sworn there had been something going on with those two. The Dremora obviously cared about Helena more than just any other ring bearer. The bard leaned closer to the old woman, still able to pick up the stale stench of alcohol from her breath.

"What's your relationship with Azarel?" whispered silently.

Unlike with the Dremora, the innkeeper didn't seem the least conflicted about the question. She just gave the bard a lopsided grin.

"Why, he is my babysitter of course!" she said smiling. "Why would you even need to ask?"

"No reason," Marcus said thinking about the look on the Dremora's face when he had been talking about "his" Helena. The bard shook his head to get the idea out of his head. It was ridiculous anyway. "So, back to the ring. Who do I need to go to?"

"Ah," Helena said. "That is the problem. I doubt that the man that helped me with my ring is still alive. Back when I went to see him, he was already a wrinkled old prune. Falion was his name and he lived in Morthal back in the day. Ugh, that man just rubbed me the wrong way, I'll tell you. He was a pain in, not only my, but everyone's arse."

"So…" Marcus said slowly, "you think he's dead? And that no one can help me?" He started to sound desperate.

"No, no, no," Helena sighed. "I never said that. I think his adoptive daughter might still be around. The old crone no doubt taught her all that he knew. Agni is around the same age as I, so she's probably still alive and kicking. It wouldn't hurt to pay her a visit."

Marcus went back to his food. The stew had grown cold already but he hardly even noticed. So he would have to find a mage. Well, not just any mage, a specific one. It didn't sound that hard, though. It was not like he was asked to complete some ridiculous quest of finding or killing something to get help. He had some gold, not much but probably enough. He could get rid of the cursed ring and be done with it. The he would probably have to find a place to hide for quite some time in hopes of evading the Dremora's revengeful behavior. It didn't sound too bad.

The innkeeper brought him back from his thoughts by nudging his sleeve.

"Boy, are you sure you want to get rid of it?" she asked so seriously it made the bard nearly choke on his stew.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I already said that – "

"Yes, yes, I heard you," Helena sighed rolling her eyes. "I just mean… Back then, years ago, I was so ready to get rid of that damned thing, dreaming of tossing it to some backwoods swamp and never see it again but when the time came, I… I just want you to know that if you do want to keep it, then by all means, it's yours."

Marcus could say nothing, so he just stared at her. Was she… was he asking him to take it? To take the ring?

"Of course, we would have to ask Azarel's opinion first and he might just kill us both, honor be damned," the woman said with a bright smile. "Oh, forget it. You don't want it, I understand. I'll just have to give it to one of my nephews and nieces before I kick the bucket."

One of the patrons left, opening the door and letting a cold gust of wind in. Helena was still sipping the potion, cringing after every gulp.

"Isn't it a bit… well… silent in here?" Marcus asked. Only one customer remained, seated in the far side corner of the tavern. It was still early but the bard had grown used to the familiar faces of the regulars.

"It's always like this when Azarel visits," Helena said humorlessly. "People don't like Dremora. Simple as that. Give them a month and they start coming back. This is the only joint in the near vicinity and people need their alcohol."

"So, how did you find out about the mage?" wanting desperately to get back to the subject of getting one cursed accessory off of his finger. "Did you just stumble upon one or did someone point you into right direction?" he asked while munching down on a bit chewier piece of horker meat.

"Oh that? Well, let me just tell you."


End file.
